I Dunno and I Don't Care
by green.zombie
Summary: Demented smut with angsty introspective chasers.
1. Tangible and Mix'd Up Files 67

This is a pornmance, existing in this universe: Rachel grows up in NYC with her dads. She and Quinn meet at Yale. Rachel has a fiancé back home (no Finn in this—sorry if he has any fans I just loathe writing him. And no Beth arc—again, sorry goes out to the fans). Anyway, Rachel and Quinn are fucking. There's really no plot to this outside of the scenario. I kinda just wanna write about sex and feelings and junk 'cause I'm having some feelings about sex and junk (so WARNING: THIS SHIT IS MOSTLY A WHOLE BUNCH OF HARDCORE SEX FROM A DEMENTED woman/girl/child/zombie). Also, it starts at the end, then meanders around doing what the fuck it wants, then when it gets tired it'll go back to the end. Just accept it.

PS I used to write under the pen name el dot abstracto then forgot the password. It's not very important. But, y'know, fun facts.

I dunno and I DON'T CARE.

0

Sitting on lawn chairs, on Santana's porch, they smoked Newports.

"And that's how he saw me. Bent over his kitchen table while his fiancé tongued the _fuck_ —out of my _asshole_ , and, a-and swirled around my hole with that pretty little index finger," Quinn's lips quivered. She bit the bottom to stop.

"Dude _yes_ ," Santana leaned forward in her seat.

"I felt so goddamn filthy, and, and _good._ I mean…," She put up her palms and tried to mouth her sentence, "I _came._ I came _right then._ His face all screwed up—right before he fucking lunged at me. I came so _fucking good_." She started to laugh.

Then, with a truly self-deprecating smile, "Why…has it always been so easy for me to be capable of this shit…?"

1

It started retarded. It started with _just her luck._ Quinn Fabray can't have anything un-dramatic occur to her— _ever_. This was a no-exception type deal from the start of it. This annoying little twerp in her Literature class who she disliked immediately and immediately wanted to eat out, dig out.

Months and months ago she'd be praying about this.

She'd only really rant about her.

"Santana, I swear to _god_ , I, I just want to crawl back inside her like she's _god_ or something. Something so serene and _beautiful_ and pure as pre-life that it, it….fucking replaces every awful thing your mother's done to you with a _my little pony_ band-aid and a hug from Jesus."

Santana gawked at her.

Quinn's head dipped back into the sofa cushions.

"It's not that I wasn't preoccupied with sex before—repressed as I was and all—it's just that the preoccupation is now so _singularly_ focused and precise."

Santana sighed, very warily, "You're so annoying."

Quinn laughed.

"You've thrown the vibes in here all off, Fabray. _Completely_."

"Are you into _yoga_ now?"

Santana rolled her eyes.

Quinn cheesy-grinned, "Because…Because _Brittany_ started it… so _now—_ "

"Shut the fuck up already, _Jesus_!"

"I can't help it," Quinn licked her lips, "She's in my head. Can't get her out."

Santana hummed at her—deadpan eyes and her all-knowing shitty-grin; " _Fuck_ her."

Quinn snorted, "I know right," she nodded; "I'd like to masturbate inches from her face and _just—_."

" _Do_ it."

Quinn quirked a brow at her, "Right…"

Santana shrugged, "It's the only way. Show some guts Q-bear. Or is your newly attained, awkward gazelle-legged dyke swagger as fake as that pleather burgundy jacket/slash/disaster you're sporting basically…24/7?"

Quinn flicked her off; brows peaked in complete disregard.

"You sound _exactly_ like Sue Sylvester."

Santana squinted her eyes, "I'm starting to think this is just how people have to talk to you."

Quinn sighed, head leant back to stare at the ceiling.

"For real?—Should I?"

"Are you stupid?— _No,_ " Santana rolled her eyes, "Now walk me to the station, I'm not getting home late because you're a freaking _tool_."

2

 _Instead of talking about anything useful_ , _I'm going to talk about one of the best times I ever fucked (in the short history of me doing so)._

Quinn wrote into her journal, lunged over it, practically alone in the cafeteria. She liked the lighting in there because it was awful, like her penmanship and the contents of all her thoughts.

 _I'm not at all like when I was a kid. I'm a fully realized sexually perverted woman now. I shed a ton of shame about a year ago. These days I just don't care. I'm not much of a better person—just one who is slightly less sad._

 _And more bold._

 _Hence—I don't care that the girl I'm fucking has a fiancé. Why should I_ _always be the one holding crosses?_

 _That's_ your _girl, buddy. She was waiting at my door on Sunday. I was just home from the gym, my hair was still wet from the showers and it'd been getting chilly nights. Those brown eyes warmed me_ right _up._

 _She grabbed the front of my sweatshirt and kissed me with tongue._

 _Immediately—the feeling of my cum rushing out of me and an aching pressure to my clitoris. Already peeking out of its hoodie; saying—"Oh Rachel; I like her."_

 _She pulled the key out of the pocket of my shorts._

 _Once we're inside and in my room she's all: "Are you sore? Do you want a massage?"_

 _I smirked at her because I know that she likes it. Guilt?—_ _I'm exactly where anyone else would be if they were me except the very, very saintly. And I just don't pretend anymore._

 _Right, right._

 _So, I'm in my awesome bed. My hands are crossed behind my head, and my thighs are being reverently kneaded by the softest little tan hands. I can't hold back my smile. I love leg day._

 _She kept going higher and higher up on my shorts until the very edge of her palm rubbed my pussy on the upstroke. She looked up at me and purred, "Your muscles are all tense."_

 _I told her, "You know what relieves my tension."_

 _She crawled up into my lap. Like a good girl. Then pulled her crazy penguin sweater off. No bra, because she was coming straight here._

 _Now—her nipples. I really love them. Brown, but then, very nearly red. I can't really claim I can describe them. They rest on little areolas of a slightly darker, yet somehow redder, shade. Most beautiful hues I've ever encountered. They taste straight up like heaven._

 _I sat there and sucked on them for more time than Rachel was probably comfortable with. I really don't care. Really don't give a fuck that she's sensitive. I dunno if you do, buddy._

 _I pulled her closer, made her straddle my thigh. She was in a skirt; I could feel she was wet through her panties. I love that she loves cotton. I sucked hard and nibbled a little. She was whining like a kitten who can barely make a sound yet, and I could feel her drench my thigh._

" _Why are you so bad?" I asked her._

 _She bucked herself up into the very slight pressure I was offering._

" _What are you, Rachel, hmm?"_

 _She smiled, perfect, "Your slut."_

 _I kissed her with a snarl on my mouth that I can't control when I do. I could feel her stupid smile. I pushed my tongue in and immediately she's there, sucking it. She kept tugging my sweatshirt up. I broke the kiss to lose it and my sports bra._

 _She stared, with her mouth open. Pretty stupid expression._

 _I started kissing her, insane. Just hating the fuck out of her mouth all of a sudden. My hand twisted into her thick brown hair, and I didn't leave space between my mouth and hers. I bit her and licked her and she gasped sweetly into me. My fingers slid to the back of her neck, where she was starting to sweat a bit. I loved the hair at her nape. It was where she smelled the sweetest._

 _She pulled back and stared, wide-eyed, not quite having caught her breath, "Please, Quinn, fuck me."_

 _That's_ your _girl_.

 _I ran my palm down her jaw and hooked my thumb in her mouth. She's so happy to suck it._

" _If you prove to me that you're worthy," I whispered at her, smiling like a shit-eating bastard._

 _Her eyes got shades and shades darker. This is what I love. Her stroking my ego. Her evident eagerness. I can see her get wet and never even glance at those little pink cotton hipsters. Thanks for the gift, god, guess I did really get one._

 _So._

 _She's on me like you wouldn't want to believe; little hands stroking me everywhere and kisses that plead with me. Deep, short kisses over and over. Please, please, please. Her hands squeezed at the sides of my stomach; her thumb stroking through the indentations. She was always so reverent. Almost annoyingly gentle. Fucking pussy. I bit her bottom lip._

" _You're gonna make me come?" I whispered it right up against her jaw, my voice hitting all her favorite registers. I know about this, 'cause she told me—for the first time, making me blush._

" _Hmm, Rachel?—Are you?"_

 _I'm thinking: you are, and she nodded right away._

 _I pushed her shoulders down and grabbed her by the hair, up into me._

 _My back hit the bed just as her face crashed into my cunt just as the biggest smile landed on my face._

 _It's kismet._

 _At the soft pressure of her mouth, I shoved myself right in. I'm a violent hip-jerker. I like to think of this whole experience as using her mouth, so, I started it all off by sliding myself up and down the whole length of her tongue, then, held her by the hair right up against me, until the pressure was correct and I could feel myself fill her mouth up with cum (so much I heard her swallow straight away)._

" _You come so much," she gasped it out._

 _I do. I thoroughly soak shit up around here. I don't know why, but I'm always getting told._

" _Suck it all out," I told her, with a full grin I could really feel._

 _Her tongue dove in. Now it was her applying the hard pressure with her own mouth; my hands were crossed behind my head in blissful ignorance of anything but this fantastic pleasure. I guess she really gets what I need. She's pretty intuitive when it comes to giving me head, I'll give her that. I don't have to guide her for it to feel good (the way you almost always have to)—but it does feel good to guide her._

 _I really love watching her go. I swear she purposefully widens her eyes for me. She never breaks the contact—this fake-innocent black-brown gaze—all the while dipping her tongue in; tasting me, then reaching up and sucking on my clit like it just gave birth to her, with these little mewling noises coming out of her fucking mouth._

 _That's about how long I can last without my hand in her hair, helping me suffocate her._

" _You're a fucking whore," I bent down and whispered it into the crown of her head, before falling back; really ready to give it to her._

 _Her eyes dropped the innocent act right away—they grew dark, and giddy. She sucked hard at me, laving at my cunt with her tongue like it was her fucking little lion cub._

" _Fuck, fuck, fuck. Oh my god."_

 _I gripped her hair a little tighter and started a measured cant upwards with my hips—deep and hard into all the soft and wet of her perfect mouth._

" _Look at me. Now." My voice was a scratch above a whisper._

 _Her eyes flickered up. Open now, and bare. The brownest eyes I've ever seen._

 _That's always been my favorite type._

 _I stilled my hips. She knew by then to stay—right fucking_ there _—where she was pressed the hardest against me._

 _That's it. And suck._

 _I explode into obscenities._

" _Fuck Rachel—Fuck! Take it—god yes, fucking take it." That's what it sounded like. Ground out through a bit lip and whatever strangles my throat every time I'm coming into Rachel's mouth._

 _I watched her jaw flex as she licked and sucked at my entrance. I closed my eyes because it was honestly all too much already._

 _I opened them and she's there, staring at my cunt all reverently._

 _She said, "I love watching your little pink clit twitch through an orgasm."_

 _I got up._

 _I am not one of these people that can relax or fall asleep or whatever after an orgasm. I feel nearly offended. I feel like: how dare you make me come in your mouth? Maybe it's some stale form of Christian guilt now making its way into my sex life—trying to throw blame on this poor girl for making me feel so good doing something so fucking bad. I dunno. But what I feel post-orgasm is insane violent energy. And it's how we kick-off every sex-session for obvious reasons._

 _I bent down and took a knee at the last drawer in my dresser, where I keep my set-up. I spent a lot of time on it; researching. My harness is from rodeoh, and the toy I use is from vixen creations—Mustang, in red and blue marble coloring. These specifics are for you; for clarity._

 _No, I'm just really proud of it._

 _I had it on in a few seconds, watching as Rachel undressed._

 _Rachel—this girl who is so smart, and pretty, and special, was right then just my fuck-doll._ _Just my good little whore to me. Undressing for me. Waiting with wide eyes, eating me alive as if she hadn't_ just _._

 _I threw her naked body back on the bed and grabbed her legs to keep them up over her head. Her back was arched, her stomach was contracted, and her pussy was dripping sticky glittering girl-cum. She loves being exposed (she's let me photograph her and all). I let her go and she kept her own legs up there for me; her hole twitching and pouring out more._

" _Oh, fuck," I let my finger trail down the wet, red skin of her slit, and up inside her. I played around with her cum; dragging it out and swirling it over her little hot clit. Just as it started to swell, I moved past it._

 _I stretched her with two long fingers, up to the last knuckle. I love the resistance; love sinking myself in against the tightness. I love to ride the resistance but really love when she yields and starts enjoying the hard piston-in-and-out. Then she gushes and grips me. I could barely stand it, the tight contractions or the way she looks at me. The little furrow in her brow._

 _I could feel my clit still drumming hard against the base of my cock._

" _Look at you. You've still got my cum all over your fucking mouth." And she did. In thick streaks._

 _I sat up on my knees, "Come here."_

 _She crawled up to kneel down under me; her face right beneath the curved up swell of the shaft._

 _I dragged it across her pretty face—her perfect cheekbones—collecting my cum on the swollen head and guiding it all inside her mouth. She watched me as she took it in—I know she needed me to see her._

 _I know her._

 _But only really in this primal sense._

 _I know she wants me to jerk my hips like a heartless savage at the sight of her— pushing that silicone dildo down her throat. Dark eyelashes fluttered and she met my eyes. She never once backed down the whole time I was there, stuffing my cock into her mouth and dragging out each time more and more slobber._

" _This is why we don't need lube right, sweetheart?"_

 _She nodded, her eyes already turning teary._

 _I could've, if I'd kept going, come from it. Every time she makes the gagging sound it's like a hot suck to my clit. I mean—I come embarrassingly easy from this blowjob shit. And she's good at it. She's awfully fucking good at it. I could see why you put a ring on it._

 _I mean—a ring that was burning against my thigh while she gripped me and somehow managed to find the space in her throat to accommodate my big dick but—still. Insert shitty grin._

 _She sort of choked once it all disappeared, but held it. Her nose was right up against the lower part of my stomach. I could feel her breathe through it._

 _Right at the very edge of orgasm is where I was._

 _No._

 _I slid out, and cursed lowly._

 _She kept her mouth open for me to use if I wanted. The drool still dripped off her bottom lip, now to her little brown breasts. And the edges of her lashes glittered with tears._

" _You look beautiful," I told her, and she laughed._

 _Now, take a note—Rachel Berry loves being dragged across a bed and shoved onto a long, hard dick._

 _It wasn't the slow, steady, inch-by-hard-inch shove in though—the long drag back is what nearly killed her. She went into a mini-fit of spasms and her eyes rolled back. When she fixed me with the dark gaze again, she was almost a different person._

 _She licked her lips and looked at me without pretense._

 _She loves to be fucked hard._

 _She raked her nails up my stomach; her thighs shaking with every thrust I rocked into her._

 _She whispered, her voice already broken, "I'm coming."_

 _I went harder, faster._

 _Her pussy was starting to make sounds like it was kissing my cock._

 _I don't know if she has with you—but fyi, she squirts. Insane. Pushes me out and all._

 _She also: begs, moans, cries, hiccups. All that to ask me for more even as she goes through the spasms._

 _I dove back in her obviously, for even harder fucking (because I love to be needed)._

 _She was holding on to me like it was for her life._

 _She loves to be as close as possible for this missionary sort of thing—looks into my eyes and everything. I can only stand the sweetness for a bit; for some deep, slow thrusts where our lips are near-touching and we're both not really mumbling anything we mean so I try not to hear it._

 _I got up seconds after the heady infatuated whispering started up._ _I love dragging her around with my dick inside her—on her shaking legs and tip toes she could barely walk._

 _I sat on my desk chair for our favorite._

 _It's a position to me, that seems—and I don't know why—but it seems like it should be the most heartbreaking for you. It's one thing when I'm pummeling into her and she looks, to the audience, almost innocent. It's a whole 'nother thing when she's throwing her ass around up on my lap, scratching her hands up and down my abs, and having hard, quivering orgasms; pressing herself down until what's between us disappears inside her completely._

 _It was no exception then. She was there, riding the fuck out of my dick, stroking her hands up and down my neck and shoulders, forehead to forehead. I stared into her soul as I jerked up hard to meet her thrust for thrust; caressed her jaw and stuck my tongue in her mouth. She ground her pussy on my lap faithfully on every sweet down-stroke, making sure to stimulate my clit._

" _Am I doing good?" She asked me, breathless, "Do you like it?"_

 _I told her, "Feel for yourself."_

 _She arched her back and reached her little hand back to grab for the cloth of my harness; fingers rubbing on my entrance._

" _Oh fuck," she whined, and rode me faster and faster. She fixed me with a dazed look, "Feed me."_

 _Feed me._ Jesus. _That's your girl._

 _I reached down past the waistband of the rodeoh and squeezed my hand down beneath the base of my dick 'till I could get two fingers into myself. Pulled them out and pushed them into Rachel's soft, suckling mouth._

" _Here," I could barely stand to watch, closed my eyes, "Fuck."_

 _I dunno whatever it was that made my fingers so sensitive—to the flick of her tongue and her mouth's soft suckle. Yeah, I came. Yeah, her too. Maybe because I did. Maybe not. It might've just been the dick I was pummeling inside her._

 _I stood up from the chair with her legs around my waist—very swift recovery; grabbed her by her tight little ass-cheeks and bounced her on my cock._

 _I like this position for a billion reasons. First, physically—I've always liked the burn in my body from exercise that borders on extreme. Hoisting a hundred-pound girl up and fucking her is kicks for me. And second, the whole mental game—I feel powerful. I feel more powerful than the girl I'm fucking. Maybe that shouldn't even turn me on, but I guess I don't care. Third—her little titties are bouncing right there, near my mouth. I can lick and suck—and yeah, she's very sensitive. She's coming straight away, and passing out on me—already._

Quinn took a breath and her pen was almost out of ink anyway. It was blatant ungrammatical garbage but it helped her deal. She was sure she was clear in her knowledge of it. They were anonymous fucks and she was headed nowhere again. To a broken heart again.

She couldn't quite understand why it had turned into—letters penned to him. The fiancé. The closest guess she had was that…it sort of helped her remember that he was there. She'd logged every one of their encounters. And if he ever found out, and if he ever had a question…it was all right there, in a composition book that was almost done now. She'd have to start volume II. I mean, certainly they were not done fucking.

Rachel was due to be waiting for her again.

3

It was always awkward, the end of it. Quinn wasn't allowed to smoke or anything, Rachel said. So she just sat up against her headboard and stroked her sweaty hair back from where it was matted against her forehead.

Rachel looked at her—eyes still freshly dazed from orgasm.

"Are you letting it grow out?"

Quinn cleared her throat, "No—just—I need to get it cut soon."

"Hmm," Rachel nodded, "You'd look cool with that side shave—Ellie Goulding thing, you know the—"

She gestured, and laughed at Quinn's expression, the way she shook her head.

"Fuck outta here with that shit, Berry."

Rachel licked her lips, "Are you going to dye it again?"

Quinn shrugged, "Maybe."

There was a lull. She watched Rachel pull on her clothes; finding them in pieces on the floor.

Something about it had her "up"again, but she decided not to start.

Instead, something dark and convoluted:

"Hey—don't bother wearing panties when you come over either."

Rachel looked up; a gaze that lasted a heavy second.

"Okay."


	2. Techno

"Didn't see the appeal this was like being inside the mind of some perverted guy who's assuming what it's like for two girls to have sex. Quinn's inner thoughts were horrible and cringe worthy when she's worse than Santana&Puck that's something. And what female cums like that? Maybe I'm just not into the whole "you're my little slut, fuck me" I don't see how that's sexy to anyone but ok to each is own"

Thank you for taking the time! You did so for my fic, in reviewing, so I'm going to take the time to address your concerns now.

Okay, here we go:

Female sexuality can take many forms. INCLUDING ONES WHICH WILL MAKE YOU FEEL DEEPLY—MAYBE REALLY REALLY DEEPLY—UNCOMFORTABLE. We really just want to be left to our respective perverted corners of the internet.

And as for what female cums like that? Many. Like— _many_ , y'know. This stuff comes in all sorts of quantities and viscosities (with great care taken into account for the consumer's needs).

(And actually—even with the "average girl," if you're giving her head and doing a proper job of it, you're going to come out of that experience with a generous helping of cum spread over most of your face. From about nose, down. It's great. Why wouldn't you want that?)

Anyway thanks again for reviewing doll, honestly, this is why I upload this stuff. I live to preach the gospel of lady-fluids to the dry heathen—let the wet heal you my child. The cult is waiting to embrace you (and anoint you—after we reach a mutual consensus we are all comfortable with).

Okay, it got weird. But you get it.

Now. All positive reviews can share this shrug and confused smile.

No, I'm really grateful and that's not even sarcastic but just for a second.

Oh and fyi everyone THE SMUT WILL ONLY GET WORSE FROM HERE ON OUT (and the girl-cum is only going to get thicker and more abundant). So if you're delicate—fuck off from here.

Okay here's a chapter. You—if you read that, you really earned it.

0

Crawling around on the floor naked. Not even putting up a fight. Being the good whore Quinn had asked her to be. That's how she'd spent 8 PM to 11:34 PM but now she still had a paper, unfinished, and due in the morning. She sighed miserably.

"I'm writing about the _performance_ arts," it was joyless, and futile, and barely even audible.

 _I guess I don't have to be heard—for once._

A little while ago the dread and duress that now crawled up her spine was rolling off it—in waves, from hard orgasms. She pouted.

Her phone whistled, twice.

It had to be Alec. It was never ever Quinn. Quinn never once texted her first, and certainly not directly after sex; the unlikelihood jumps up by the thousands then, into the realms of unfathomable—

She grasped for a metaphor. Succinctly gave up. _This is stupid._

Her phone whistled.

 _I use so many unnecessary words to say basically nothing. And I do it every time I talk—even, just, when I think._

She smiled wryly. Quinn kicked her out after no more than (on a good day) four sentences. Not kicked her out— _literally,_ but with this _coldness._ Her face became basically just that peaked brow and un-amused hazel eyes. They could be deep, and warm—kaleidoscopes of raw emotion or…deadpan, dry, and entirely still. They could make you feel stupid. They could _really_ make you go away.

Maybe a younger version of herself would've fought with her better. A version of herself that didn't have to finish this paper in time, and drag herself along in the morning. Or just—a version that wasn't marrying Alec in a year. _God._

Her phone whistled. She reached for it.

 _Alec3: (11:47PM) Hey babe_

 _Alec3: (11:47PM) In Chinatown with ur dads :]._

 _Alec3: (11:59PM) They bought a poodle._

 _Alec3: (12:01AM) "Y was a poodle up for sale in Chinatown" is a question you might have. I still don't know.. Text me backkkkkk, I'm a 3rd_ _wheel._

And it _does_ —make her feel awful. Not just sad, but a little sick. There's so much of her that's attached to him. But enough that isn't.

She didn't know what to say to anyone—not to her professors, in response to all of their prompts, not to her fiancé, not to her lover, not to her fathers, not to her friends. It almost made her laugh. SHE DIDN'T GET THE SCRIPT! And there was the audience—growing impatient.

She sat there—honestly too freshly fucked to be articulate, even enough to type a text message. She really just wanted to sleep. Still 2,000 words short of the minimum.

These days running on empty was just the way it had to be.

She wrote him, _I miss you._

It's not even not true. He'd almost been there through everything—even the beginning (as a body in the halls; a semi-familiar, boyishly impish face gliding through her middle school memories). And then, in freshman year of high school, he sat beside her in Biology I. He'd acted mature. She'd noted.

Then, she liked him. They easily became friends. He even joined glee with her. He even became one of the weird kids with her. They sang together in the courtyard, and people stared; a bit bewildered by all of them. Their courtship was seamless and altogether expected. However, it so perfectly hit every note Rachel had wanted it to. He was an excellent leading man, Alec Katz.

So then—how could this happen (and so easily)?

It almost…

 _It's stupid, but—_ it just _happened_.

When Quinn walked through the doors of ENC1101, she wasn't just the most beautiful face Rachel had ever seen. It didn't end at that. Quinn had entered her _life story_. She pressed up against Rachel with her eyes, and the hazel hues teased her.

Well, Rachel followed the rabbit and _still—_ just meandering wonderland.

She doesn't know _anything about her._ And Quinn is almost mean sometimes. Which makes her, yes, a great fuck—but so emotionally unavailable. There was nothing safe about her.

Quinn's kisses just seek and destroy.

And then there's the way she fucks—the rough, yet so precisely calculated and _executed_ psycho-motions. Ultraviolent sex.

 _Quinn is in A Clockwork Orange._

 _I'm in Wizard of Oz._

 _But we're cast in the same movie—_ "It's stupid."

 _We don't match. And we don't fit._

 _So why am I—_

Her phone whistled.

— _doing this?_

She was pretty sure she was close to a panic attack, and eyed the water bottle on her nightstand.

She thought about the beginning of it an awful lot. Not the way Quinn first walked into the classroom (which by now she'd romanticized to death), but the _actual_ start of it.

The place where the line was first crossed.

Horrendously cliché. A party.

In a house with about six college kids living in it. She'd seen Quinn at first just from her periphery; smiling in a charming way and holding a red stripe. She sipped and Rachel thought she shot her a glance back. She couldn't tell because she was immediately fixing her eyes on anything else (some very awful acting here involving playing fascinated over possibly the world's most annoying game of beer pong).

Rachel could almost smile at the memory.

1

 _Quinn approached her with a cheeky grin._

" _Do you know you've been sipping that Blue Moon for like—45 minutes?"_

 _Rachel licked her lips. She liked the way Quinn stared at her._

" _You've been watching me for 45 minutes?"_

 _Quinn shrugged. She was almost adorable up close. I mean gorgeous obviously—but from the frame Rachel was in now; there was a sudden sweetness you could see. Evident especially in her eyes—_

" _You're kind of—good to look at."_

 _Rachel hadn't been expecting her to say that. She finished the final quarter of her beer, just mostly to be doing something. She'd right then run out of words she could remember._

" _Want me to get you one?" Quinn took the empty bottle from her._

 _She nodded._

 _At Quinn's exit she let herself feel everything at once. Sick and giddy—what is this? A turn of her stomach, and her face felt hot. It was—good in a way. But not really. Mostly it was upsetting._

 _She contemplated leaving, just as—of course—Quinn returned with beers (another red stripe, for her, and a blue moon, for Rachel)._

" _They're having a bonfire out in the backyard," she told her, and grinned, almost friendly, "S'mores."_

 _2_

 _And Rachel was there—the heat of the flames making its way through her clothes, and then almost inside her. They didn't have enough chairs for them both. Quinn took the last one, then patted her own lap and grinned at her._

 _The ache in place between her thighs (gaining momentum since Quinn had first glanced her way) was now taking up too much focus._

No.

" _No—it's—cool."_

 _Nothing was really cool._

 _Quinn made herself more comfortable in her seat, "Suit yourself."_

 _And it would always be this—devastating disregard—that pulled Rachel. Quinn yawned, so blasé. And then, in order to even stand a chance at winning whatever this game was, she had to—Rachel huffed, and sat high up on Quinn's lap. Almost to the knee and she vaguely hoped it hurt a bit just to teach her a lesson about teasing people._

" _That's so uncomfortable," Quinn grabbed her by the waist and pulled her in; pressing Rachel's ass tight against her lap, "I have bad knees—from years of extreme cheerleading practices. So I can't have you resting on them."_

 _Way to backfire._

 _Her pulse on warp speed, she took a deep breath (she really hoped Quinn didn't notice). She kept her back straight, not touching any part of the girl behind her._

 _She thought she heard a small chuckle._

 _Then Quinn said, "You don't have to be so stiff. I'm already—for a_ while _—I've been impressed with your posture."_

 _She smiled, demurely, and looked around. So many people in this circle knew she had a fiancé._

 _So maybe she did have to be—stiff, and dry, and reserved. Now that she was there (and she shouldn't have been—in the first place)._

 _She reminisced over Jiminy Cricket, and turned a bit, in Quinn's lap, to be able to face her, speaking lowly, by her ear, "I'm just a bit wary, you know—of, of everyone's perception about—I'm just afraid we might look…a tad too comfortable. You know?"_

 _She was unintentionally twisting her engagement ring around her finger._

 _Quinn's profile split in a smile that, in the moonlight, was the palest, prettiest pink._

" _They don't care. They're only worried about how_ they _look."_

 _A quick glance around confirmed most people were taking selfies, or just texting furiously. The occasional glance their way was at most a detached acknowledgement of their existence._

" _But if you're uncomfortable we could just—"_

 _Rachel shook her head._

 _It_ is _stupid, but—_

 _Quinn was the kid in the playground she wanted to chase around. And she was going to play whatever game Quinn wanted her to play._

 _The girl was a live wire; every touch electric—whether subtle or nuanced. She'd kept her hand on Rachel's stomach this whole time. Rachel should have, but did not, push that hand away (mostly she'd attempted to ignore it). The thing is…it kept her rooted to a certain spot on Quinn's lap. And Rachel had for long minutes been theorizing that—perhaps Quinn was getting something out of that._

 _So that's what stopped her from stopping Quinn. The idea—roiling hotly in her head—of Quinn's pleasure._

 _That's the thing about betrayal. It has absolutely nothing to do with the person being betrayed. That's what makes it a_ betrayal _. Their complete exclusion._

 _It was about her gratification. It was about Quinn's eyes. The moonlight bouncing off them as she sipped beer and grinned at her—she probably already knew that she had won._

 _3_

 _It was a few hours later (maybe three, four beers along). Most everyone had meandered back inside at the slightest sign of a drizzle._

 _They were the only ones around the fire now, holding their position. Rachel had asked Quinn about a billion times if she was hurting her legs._

 _Quinn glared at her—"You stay right there."_

 _Rachel liked hearing her say it. She had an arm around Quinn's neck now, and would occasionally rake aquamarine-painted nails up tousled blonde hair (she'd once really fucked up and in a hazy moment kissed Quinn's temple—the girl didn't say anything about it, but the degree of tension peaked at the gesture)._

 _Quinn's thumb had begun to draw circles on her stomach. Rachel was glad she went with the thin deer sweater._

 _She started a slight, backwards bounce with her hips, to the rhythm of whatever song reverberated from the house with too-heavy bass._

 _Quinn's breath started to catch._

 _Her voice had an edge Rachel loved immediately, "You like this song?"_

 _Rachel nodded._

 _Quinn pressed a little harder on her stomach, "Hope the faux-DJ plays it eleven more times then."_

" _Do you want to go into the house and dance?"_

 _Quinn shook her head, she'd started to sweat a bit, "You can dance for me right here."_

 _Could she really?_

 _Quinn lifted her hips up and simultaneously pressed Rachel down harder. She groaned. It wasn't even trying to be low—it was strangled and animalistic. Possessive._

 _Rachel wanted her to make the sound again._

 _She rolled her ass in a slow circle; winding it up with motions from her core that Quinn lifted up her sweater to watch. She let her._

 _Sorry Jiminy._

 _The dirty guilty feeling only intensifies the ache. So much for you._

" _Where did you learn to dance like that?" Quinn sounded genuinely surprised, and a little breathless. Good._

" _I've been in lessons since I was a baby," she told her, smiling, "I actually won my first competition when I was 3 months old."_

 _Quinn chuckled behind her, "You were twerking—at that age?"_

" _That wasn't—!" Rachel huffed, almost stopping to state her indignation._

 _Quinn pressed her hand down, "Hey—kidding. Tell me more."_

 _She did (with surprising detail), still grinding herself to the hypnotic melody of whatever was bumping in the world of techno. She told Quinn about her dreams, about glee (skipping Alec's usual mention there), about the competitions she'd won, about the plays she'd been in back home, and how she was almost always mentioned in the reviews._

 _Quinn's hands, meanwhile, meandered a path up and down her ribs, then to the outsides of her thighs (gripping there) before moving smoothly back up, until finally she squeezed one of Rachel's breasts in her hand._

 _At that, Rachel grabbed her wrist. She didn't pull her away, she only held it. The palm at her nipple certainly wasn't helping her think clearly._

 _Quinn leaned down to look her in the eyes._

" _You know what I want right?"_

 _Whatever pretense they'd been resting on, Quinn smashed away._

 _Rachel nodded, almost dumbly. Quinn licked her lips, "How long have you known?"_

 _Rachel sighed._

" _Since you looked at me."_

 _The hand at her breast started squeezing her._

" _That's right—I've wanted you for a long time, and you knew that. I've wanted to catch you in a moment just like this. And you wanted it too. You were looking to get caught. You laid out bait, and I pretended not to know. But that's gone on long enough now. We both want to be here. Correct?"_

" _Yes."_

 _She didn't know why admitting it felt so good._

 _The final look on Quinn's face before the kiss—it was devastating._

4

She reached immediately for her water bottle. Then, after several sips, her phone. Many messages. Pretty sweet ones.

She sighed and typed, _I love you._

Her heart skipped then palpitated. She'd been doing nothing but reminiscing for a good fifteen minutes. Microsoft Word still gaped at her—brighter and emptier than ever.

Quinn was everywhere in her head.

Earlier that night, before she'd left Quinn's apartment—she'd thought the girl looked more beautiful than she'd ever seen her. So relaxed in her post-orgasmic state.

Her orgasm, Rachel had on her fingers.

The way she spread her naked body back on the couch, and stretched a bit, her feline spine, so Rachel could see a flash of all her tendons had Rachel wanting more. Wanting more so soon.

It was getting late. Quinn was still smiling at her.

Those lips had minutes ago defiled her.

"Do you believe in marriage?"

It was a dumb thing to bring up. Rachel had zero impulse control (as evidenced by the mess she's making—of everything).

Quinn _actually_ answered (after shooting her a very dry sort of look).

"Yeah. But—I want to really take my time with that stuff."

Rachel frowned a bit.

"Why?"

"Because I don't believe in divorce."

The way she'd said it; clear and natural—

"Do you want another round?" Rachel asked her.

…

A/N: Next chapter continues the first time story from Quinn's POV. I'll post it up soon if you kids behave. _  
_


	3. Mix'd Up Files 1

_A/N: Thanks for all the support and everything_ _. This chapter is the first in a series I'm calling "from the mixed up files." I didn't make that up. But I'm using it. But I'm not getting any money. Anyway—those chapters are just pages from Quinn's sex journal. Plot? Next chapter, maybe a little._

 _Happy Monday!_

 _0_

 _I guess she wasn't ready for what she'd flipped on in me—but she shouldn't have had her hand on the switch in the first place._

Serves her right _is a good way to feel before I ravage her._

 _She was turned all the way around on my lap, to face me. She cradled my face in her palms as we kissed._

 _Every time her tongue slid up mine she got a hip-jerk and a hissed "yes."_

 _She must've noticed because she started just pretty plainly licking at my tongue._

 _I kept humping up into her at a steady pace; my hand pressed hard on her lower back, keeping her an immovable object for me to force myself upon._

 _The sound of our kissing and soft moaning was mostly masked by the crackling of the flames. Not that there should've been anyone around anyway. Not that I cared._

 _I mean—she felt too good really even to think. If I_ had _a thought it was only this: I want to roll around on a bed with her and do this, but first—fuck her right here like a little whore (god, if she'd let me)._

 _Her long, toned legs were draped over either side of my lap. She was in a black knee-length skirt and grey thigh highs. But uh—that skirt was up around her waist since five minutes ago. I'm not sure if Rachel was aware, but she was grinding herself down on my lap in pretty much just blue cotton panties (I had to take that glance down once I'd noticed). I hadn't purposefully pulled her skirt up or anything—it must've happened in all our pushing against each other. But I didn't complain (for I am not a complainer)._

 _Rachel's tongue delved deeper into my mouth than it'd been going, and she ground herself down harder, more desperate. I pulled back so I could see it on her face—how hot she'd gotten. Her doe eyes burned into me._

 _She was breathless, "take me somewhere."_

 _Shitty grin._

" _I could take you here."_

 _She was nodding sans any hesitation and I had to check twice to make sure. I was definitely expecting her to refuse (probably very offended) at which point I'd play it off as a joke (brilliant politician that I am)._

 _She told me, "please," and raked her nails up my hair._

 _Her eyes looked hazy and extra dark. I could tell she was really swimming in the bliss of it—the moment we were making—dazed and barely aware of anything. Her breath played with my breath and it was so sweet._

 _But honestly. I'm not a shit person or anything. I mean, I definitely need consent—and it has to be clear and simple and sober (not even slightly coy or anything do I accept)._

" _Are you," I pulled my hands back, to my sides, and cleared my throat, "Are you actually—really sure about this?"_

 _She frowned at me, "What—?"_

 _I sighed. I waited a little for her eyes to finally focus._

" _I know you have—a fiancé. I'm not looking to make your life complicated. But if you want to fuck—well, I really want to fuck you too. But you have to, probably, take a second to think about it. Also—I mean, I'm a stranger right now, more or less. I'm not saying it's bad. I just don't know whether you'll feel a certain way after, on account of it. I mean—I can promise you I'm clean, and I can promise you that I have no intention ever to hurt you. I'm definitely not—talking you_ out _of it. 'Cause—I want you_ in _it. I just need to know that you really are—in it with me. Like, all the way."_

 _She cradled my face in her hand (sliding her palm down my jaw) and locked our eyes, she said, "Yes. I'm in it with you. I'm all in—all my chips—okay?"_

 _Then, my tongue and lips possessed hers—and when her mouth opened, I lunged into it. I was no longer holding back. She was grateful—she rolled her hips into my lap and moaned, softly, my name. Who can stay still in the face of that?_

 _I bucked up and bit her bottom lip, sucking it between my teeth._ _It doesn't matter anymore that we're wrong—because we can't stop anyway. I'm getting what I wanted. She's getting what she asked for._

 _And really—there's nothing that stands a chance at getting between us, at least right then._

 _Maybe this (she and I, crashing recklessly into each other) wouldn't rid me of my loneliness forever. But in that moment, with the deep blue moonlight and the orange spectrums bouncing off the flames and Rachel's lips, sliding hotly over mine, I finally_ found _myself in something. And even if it's not right, it's still the warmest I've ever felt._

 _1_

 _I felt hot—everywhere. It radiated right off my skin and swelled probably into Rachel (responding with the desperate, hypnotic grind into me). My hands slid up under her sweater, my palms tracing the curve that bends in and up—from the small of her back to where I could feel the hooks in her bra; undone now._

 _She pulled back to help me get rid of her clothes._

 _Then, I had her on my lap—shirtless. Looking at her, for the first time…my heart felt good; beating with its single purpose. It turns out the meaning of life and me existing here is: blood pumps through my veins so I can ravage her._

 _Because, God—fuck, is she perfect. And that deserves it._

 _Now I understand._

 _I pressed her into me, hard. My gaze felt heavy, even to me, but I wasn't about to let her look away from what was happening. I wanted that acknowledgement (again)._

 _I licked and kissed her neck—sucked with conviction whenever I had her near-peaking and distracted (and yes—she has marks; but everywhere, and scratches from my nails, bruises from where my fingertips might press into her too hard, not caring)._

 _At that though, she always squeezed her thighs around my waist and rolled her hips—involuntarily, which just makes it hotter. So I suppose she enjoys it, when I press enough to hurt a little._

 _My hand slid up to finally cup her through her panties—sticky, and warm, even through the cotton._

" _I'm so glad you turned out to be a bad girl, Rachel," I sighed right up against her lips, "I mean I knew it…but still, nothing like a little confirmation."_

 _Her brow furrowed. And she was biting her lip (I guess to stop) but moaning pretty loudly anyway._

 _She's beautiful. Heartbreaking. A fine disaster for me to plummet into._

 _I plunged right into her (not wanting to wait, once my fingertip brushed past her labia and I felt the first droplet of her actual cum land there). You'd fucking do the same—anyone. Anyone out there._

 _I slid in, with two—tight fit._

 _She groaned, maybe at the first few strokes a bit uncomfortable but then resistance became walls fluttering over my digits, and surprise-attack contractions that felt—honestly—sublime, intense._

 _I was sweating and rocking against her, while she rode me—her little body rocking back down. The way she looks when she has something to fuck_ back _; coiling her taut stomach on top of me with hard purpose—that's what had me close to coming._

 _The reality of the situation kept spinning like a fever in my head—I had her near-naked, riding me outside of a party, nothing but a light rain and the cloudy night sky covering our raw fucking._

 _Is this turning girls out?—I think that it is._

" _Look at you," I gazed into her hot black stare and licked my lips, "I think you'll never get enough. That's what it feels like."_

 _It did. With the way she was shivering on top of me and losing her pupils in a sea of black._

 _I sighed, suspended in the moment (there's nothing like watching her)._

 _One day I'll be standing in the face of all my fears confirmed again. It's true. And it makes me fuck her harder, harder. Fuck her like I'll be fucked in the end._

 _Because that's what I go out and do. I let myself fall for these traps (spotting each one as they're laid out—she was barely even sly about it)._

 _Sometimes my mother calls me and asks me what I do. And immediately I think about_ this _shit. Being trapped in her. And I know there's no way I'm coming out of this alive. So don't think I'm stupid—non-existent audience—because I'm not, I'm just self-destructive (but painfully aware, of how this story goes)._

 _Anyway._

 _The way her pussy contracted on my fingers just killed me. I thrust through it; loving the burn in my arm—blood boiling in the veins._

 _I looked her in the eye after she screamed, "Quinn!"_

 _I smiled, watching her come for me._

Go ahead _, I thought at her,_ shoot me one of your fake naïve looks. _It's not gonna do her any good now._ Sorry babe—you can't ever go back in time and not come on my fingers. _As a matter of fact, I made her suck it off them. Just for watching me with those wide eyes, breathing hard, like we'd been running for our lives (at least one of us should be)._

 _I watched her sweep her tongue around my fingers and suck up what she'd left, smiling. Because—this is who she really is. And she doesn't get to go back to pretending. Not with me._

 _2_

 _She barely gets the focus back in her eyes before she's falling to the ground; sliding off my lap. I was pretty taken aback. We'd been kissing deeply; breathing hard through our noses and occasionally stopping to stare for a second, forcefully into each other's eyes._

" _What're you doing?" My voice had a rough edge. It felt like sandpaper coming up my throat._

 _She looked up from my lap for a second, and smirked._

 _I wish I could've told her: I couldn't really even_ be _in her mouth without coming right away. That's what it felt like then. So many nerves had already been awakened—so much sensitivity swelled through my little hard clit. To touch it would be torture._

 _But did I stop her from sinking to her knees and pushing that pretty little face into my pussy?—hell no!_

 _I just whimpered, helpless, and let the sensory overkill make me shiver all over._

 _She unbuttoned my jeans and I lifted my ass up from my seat so she could slide them down. She started kissing up my thighs; squeezing them in her hands._

 _It was like electricity. I kept trying not to shake too much._

 _She had my panties between her teeth, pulling on them. Her teeth barely grazed my clit and I was bucking up._

 _Oh God._

 _I settled in to watch her pull them off; letting them out of her mouth once they hit my thighs and using her hands._

 _I really couldn't believe this was happening, let's be clear. I was in complete and utter awe._

 _But since it was happening—I was going to go about it like I'd fully deserved it._

 _I cradled her face into my palm while she took me in her open mouth._

 _And my first thought—after many seconds of just, a cry of pleasure reverberating through my very empty head—was that my naked pussy and her wet little tongue should be best friends forever. They should tell each other everything. They should cuddle during rainstorms. They should have matching half-heart necklaces._

 _I had my head pulled back. I only noticed when my eyes opened and all I saw was near-black blue and silver from the modest raindrops, all falling down to meet me. I'll always remember it._

 _I had a hard grip on that dark mane all of a sudden (couldn't really remember grabbing her). Honestly I'd been trying to cool that hot impulse to bury her into me, and shove myself. The only reason I was lasting was that the pressure was so slight. But I'm not crazy. I wasn't going to risk scaring her, or making this awful._

 _I kind of just dug my ass into the seat to keep from jerking myself up and let her keep licking me softly. Pretty much, it was torture. But so fucking good._

" _Fuck—God—you're so good," I had to tell her (even in my very strained, barely above a whisper groan of a voice)._

 _She made a happy sound in her throat that made me arch my back and almost howl._

" _Oh my god," I sighed at her._

 _I saw her burrow her nose into it, licking me long and so I could see her tongue do it—all this with a smile, mind you._

 _She pulled back (a string of cum connecting her lower lip and my labia), "I like—when, when you talk—to me."_

 _I took a deep breath, mostly just missing her mouth, "What—uh—do I say?"_

" _Be creative," she smirked, "And dirty," that last bit was a whisper._

 _I closed my eyes, "What if I say something that makes you stop?"_

" _You're not going to make me stop._ Trust _me."_

 _She seemed sure, and actually—promptly put her mouth back onto where I needed it so bad. At that point, truly needed. I imagined her stopping and me trying to finish this by myself and almost cried._

 _I cleared my throat and tried to scrape something up from the dregs of my very perverse fantasies._

 _I realized, actually, I was in one. I was really-truly in one._

 _Best night of my life._

 _I licked my lips before talking to her; my voice a little less choir boy at the pimply peak of puberty, a little more riot grrrl before a daring stage-dive into a screaming crowd of purple-haired kids._

 _It was the way she was looking up at me that boosted my confidence._

" _You know, from where they are, the party can only see the back of_ my _head now."_

 _I took a breath. The cool rain felt good on my hot skin. It was getting pretty hard not to come now. She was making it pretty hard not to._

" _Do you think they're wondering where you are?"_

 _Rachel made the happy sound in her throat again, sliding her lips up to suck on my clit. I swallowed hard. My voice was damn near static to me._

" _I don't. I think they know exactly where you are. Don't you? Don't you think they know—that you sunk to the ground to suck on a strange girl's pussy?"_

 _I saw Rachel's right hand move from where it was gripping my thigh to cup herself, then, move two fingers into herself—thrusting deep and slowly. The two plump lips my clit was pressed between sucked harder. I watched her jaw flex as her mouth worked. Apparently she liked this direction we were taking._

" _That's right—show me you were starving for it."_

 _I gasped and rode her wet tongue (all slimy with me now)._

 _Apparently I was enjoying this too._

 _No._

Of course _I was._

 _Lights flashed behind my eyes. Maybe they were open and I was looking at the stars. Maybe they were closed._

 _I can't remember. I just remember hot blinding pleasure—a big bang followed by pretty big quaking tremors, followed by smaller ones with longer lasting, less stable reverberations._

 _For a while, I closed my eyes and just—rode all of that; my body shaking up into her (I couldn't control myself)._

 _3_

 _There's no kiss sweeter than the one you give to the mouth that just gave you incredible head._

 _My little cum-covered conquest, she moaned into it; grabbed my head to deepen it._

 _I thought,_ God, you've had it coming _and lifted her; pushed her up against the nearest tree._

 _I told her, "Don't worry—we're shadows."_

 _And under the lush canopy, we were._

 _But honestly—she didn't even_ look _worried; watching me drop to my knees in front of her. She shot me dark possessive looks (eyes locked pretty intensely) while my mouth for the first time engulfed her little clit._

 _She threw her head back—beautiful. Her hair was wet and stuck, dark, to her face. Her eyes were black and clear. She was shining, brighter than anything._

 _My tongue did pirouettes over her clitoris. I was playing with it; still in its hood, as a buffer, for now, while it was still so painfully sensitive. I grabbed it in my mouth, pulled it, and sucked. She started to shake and both hands clawed at my hair, my scalp—pushing me a little harder._

 _I'm good with the hints, and anyway, love burying myself. I grabbed her ass-cheeks for leverage because why the fuck wouldn't I?—and sunk in._

 _She couldn't keep her eyes from slipping closed. I closed mine too. I really just wanted to taste her—now, that she started to finally fill my mouth. She tastes so sweet it's—immediate moan and hard suckle._

 _I pulled her legs over my shoulders and let her crash down on my face; far beyond the point of wanting to tease. She rolled herself down onto me; settling herself—preparing to watch me. Preparing to come._

 _I looked at her devotedly and backed it up with what my tongue was doing; laving her up and down slowly; getting my tongue glossy and showing her._

 _Her thighs squeezed my face. My tongue split her lips apart._

 _I looked up into her dark eyes; hooded now. Her face was flushed. What she saw (herself, spread wide over my open mouth) had her breathing harder; little hitches making it difficult._

 _I squeezed her ass, and watched her, thinking—_ You like getting what you wanted, don't you? I can see it on your face.

 _She must've gotten that message._

 _Her back arched, like a bow, before she broke down, shaking on top of me. Her nails dug in, and raked up my scalp—down my neck—funny, like she owned me._


	4. Lycan

0

Still feeling—all erotic.

 _Well_ , she still felt the sting of Quinn's palm on her ass. So how could she get the girl out of her head?

She still felt her _inside,_ thrusting away into her _._ So how could she get her out—at all? In any sense? She was, for a fact, everywhere.

A heady afternoon at Quinn's lingered _all_ night.

An afternoon spent humping and kissing Quinn Fabray. Getting her breasts fondled outside her blouse, squeezed, played with (Quinn does what she wants). Getting her shirt taken off while Quinn fixes her with her stare for the occasion. Creaming her panties. Having Quinn know. Feeling embarrassed. Getting her clothes stripped off.

Naked, thrown backwards onto Quinn's bed.

It's always oddly comfortable.

She loves the way her body feels on that black, diamond-knit cotton comforter. She misses it when she's sleeping, at home, by herself.

Anyway. They were about to have a fight.

Quinn watched her strangely—but she did that a _lot_. It's when she licks her lips and squares her shoulders that you know she might speak (she could reverse the entire process of course, at any point, just by looking away).

She didn't, though—look away.

She said, "Can I ask you something?"

Rachel nodded a little vigorously, felt nervous, held her breath (her heart was in her stomach, and she was still pretty horny to be honest), "Mmn hmm, mmn hmm."

Quinn's brow quirked, "Why—uh—why are you so— _into marriage_ right now? I mean—we're nineteen. What's—why even think about it?"

Rachel couldn't say it was outside the realm of topics she expected to be brought up. But it certainly wasn't anything she _wanted_ Quinn to say.

"Um," she could feel her frown set, and took a second honestly trying to remember—who she was.

She wiped the sweat off her temple. Right—she—"I _always_ have. I've always planned for, for every bit of my future. I've _lived_ in it. Any time things were hard, or, or I felt lonely or just—like any other person in New York, blurring anonymously past each other in sidewalks. I'd just go there—and it was— _perfect_ , you know? So I planned for it, and worked for it and—one day I'm going to _be_ there. Things won't feel out-of-control anymore. I'll be—Adult-Rachel, in a shimmering gown, with my hair in these perfect waves and I'm walking the red carpet into the fucking _Tony's._ And of course, yes—my spouse is there, and _they're_ perfect too, and charming, and have the perfect arms for me to be wrapped around in. Because I don't want to experience my future _alone._ That thought is devastating. It'll have meant nothing. For me to be some lonely superstar crying; soaking in a luxurious tub filled with perfumed bubbles that—make you _sick_."

How many words was she at?

Quinn was basically gaping at her and she'd only just noticed. What had she said? Was it crazy? Was it _very_ crazy?

"Perfect is…" Quinn started to say, but then it faded off. Really, her whole expression faded off, changed, " _Whatever_. I shouldn't have asked. Remind me never to ask again. I'm just gonna be the girl who fucked you really good in college, at the end of the day. And—I know that I can _be_ that, and not mess it up. I can be—y'know— _perfect_ at that. If you asked me to be anyone else—I'd—"

"I'm not." Rachel said, to be a brat mostly. Because she had pride too. Tears _almost_ —they almost stung her eyes. She swallowed those.

Talking to Quinn never went anywhere—it was walking down a plank (she might as well be).

She knew before she said it that it would piss Quinn off. But she'd found she preferred that to letting Quinn finish saying something that would undoubtedly be insensitive and hurtful.

 _Why do that when I can beat her to it?_

Quinn's hazel depths grew shallow. Rachel swallowed against it—against feeling bad about it. She liked pissing Quinn off anyway.

At least it was the easiest catalyst to a very hard fuck.

"Come do what you're good at, Quinn."

Later—did she regret it?

Quinn looked her right in the eyes (hers bright and at the same time, hard); fucking her deep, fast, and purposeful—she said, to Rachel's screaming approval, "Just doing my job, ma'am."

 _Very_ droll. Well, Rachel came anyway.

Cherry on top—the facefuck afterwards was _vicious_.

She considered the win hers, in the end.

1

But no—maybe not _now._ Right now she wasn't even sure what winning _meant_ in relation to her and Quinn. There _were_ no winners—just two verging-on-adults acting like kids with each other, playing some irrelevant game with phony rules that change whenever.

Rachel couldn't get comfortable, in her bed. Or clarity, in her head. Her only option, then, was think in bad poetry.

She had no friends she could talk to, about this—no friends that didn't know and adore Alec too; probably equally. She was being generous. Probably _more_. Much, much more.

Okay, maybe Demetri.

She'd run the idea over in her head about a billion times.

He's her _brother._

And a deviant.

And always on her side.

But—a secret this would no longer be (she and Quinn). It would be knowledge that now, a _few_ people had. And that was a risk, certainly.

At the moment, though, the risk was far outweighed by her heartache. By that gnawing feeling she always had at Quinn's absence. Because once Rachel walked out of her door for the night, Quinn might as well disappear entirely.

In English class, she even sat away from her still. It hurt more than it should (if this was really just—what they said it was). But it _wasn't_.

So she reached for her phone and scrolled through the names, the icons, until she saw his sweet brown face and honey eyes (it was her favorite photograph of him, mid-laugh).

Demetri Berry.

2

Three rings and Rachel was getting nervous. She could tell he was fumbling a bit, when he answered.

"Look who decided to _call_ finally!"

His voice was like a drink of water. It really was. Calming—it reset her.

" _Dee,_ " she sort of gasped it out.

"What's up sis? How's New fucking Haven?"

"It's—good."

"Uh oh."

Like he couldn't tell.

"What's wrong, babygirl?"

She pinched the bridge of her nose—attempt at not crying, failing. It was always that way. If she felt like crying around Demetri then she could never stop it. He must have heard her do it a little.

"Are you—? Baby, drink water."

She reached for it on her nightstand.

A few seconds passed and she just listened to him breathing. He could always tell when to just be quiet. They were unfortunately very dissimilar in that way, she noted.

When she could speak, she found she was no longer scared to talk to him. He was the familiarity she'd been missing for months—in far easier reach than she'd been imagining.

"Dee," it was sudden, and clear, "I've been—having an affair for a few months with the Quinn girl, from Lit."

"A-ha!" He was as loud as she was ( _that_ trait they shared), "I _knew_ that shit didn't just go away. I was like: _why isn't she talking about this_? After talking about it obsessively, _for weeks_? Lucky for you I was busy with boys and school and put further investigations on the backburner while my mind played around with those things but—for the record—I fucking hella-knew-it!"

"Dee…"

"You have to detail everything! And detail _in detail_."

More broken then, " _Demetri_ …"

He kind of gasped, catching up, "My little Ray-chel of sunshine, look…it's—please don't cry…"

She couldn't help it. Everything seized her chest at once—things she'd pushed to the back of her mind now piled up and threatened to topple over on top of her. It came out in a word—" _Alec_ —"

Demetri sighed, on the other end of the line, "Yeah, this'll be the worst thing that's probably ever happened to that kid. Which—while it sucks, to have your high school girlfriend cheat on you in college—it's still pretty low-scale level trauma. I mean—for all intents and purposes, _I love Alec_ …he's a great guy, but he's had a _cushy fucking life_. Remember all the shit we went through? When we'd get bullied and teased? When you helped me come out to my parents—and they called you a freak, and threw me out and you like, helped me pack everything while my mom couldn't stop _yelling_ , god—all that awful shit—and we just cried all night, in the _park_ …and I didn't know what the fuck I was going to do, because I didn't have a family after that. And your dads took me in, no questions—at like, six am when we finally got up and our hungry little bodies just couldn't sob anymore…and remember all the shit you had to do to sort out the adoption. All the back-and-forth with those—the people that threw me away. What a crazy fucking nightmare the last few years have been and—Alec had to what? _Pass high school_. And maybe get stared at a little oddly for dating you. Other than that I think he just wore v-necks and _sat there_ so…not that he doesn't have feelings, just—on a scale, on the human scale of shitty things you can do, people rank cheating a little too high on the list of betrayals. Take it from a kid whose mom slapped him in the face for trying on lipstick when he was _fucking five_."

Rachel sniffled, "He _proposed._ I said _yes_. And that's—it was supposed to mean something…"

"No it wasn't," his voice was a little hard then, "You know how shitty I thought it was that he did that, right before you left. To tie you down right before with some big—fucking _production_ he knew you'd _never_ say no to. It defeats the whole purpose of why you said you wanted to leave in the first place, which—I'm starting to think you were right by the way. You _should_ leave where you're from…while you're trying to grow up and figure out who you are…because, going to NYU and seeing so many people we knew in high school around…it's like the pressure of who I _was_ is still there and I can't shake it—and just, be new things, try being new things and seeing if it fits me, you know? Because all the old eyes are there, measuring me up to who _I was_."

"Exactly," she brushed old tears away, settling into the warmth of conversation with him. Her best friend (since age seven). Her official brother once they'd turned sixteen, "I love New York but I really had to get away for a while. Alec was so set against it—"

" I _know_!" Demetri shrieked and sounded to Rachel, really strangely just like Hiram, "He's so _smart,_ that Alec Katz."

"You've _never_ liked him."

"I hate _all_ clingy men. It's not personal—and I do, like…I love him and wish him the best I just never really thought he was…the best for you."

"Dee…"

"It's like you just complete his big, perfect puzzle-picture of his rich, New York Jewish-princess-boy life…but, he never even realized you're…not a piece of it. You _don't_ fit perfectly. And he's cool with bending you to fit sometimes. And _I'm_ not cool with _that_."

" _Demetri…_ " She wasn't claustrophobic but was starting to understand it.

" _Rae_ ," he stressed, in his fake-fatherly way, "You are a beautiful flower set to bloom. And Quinn is pollinating you quite nicely if your _two month absence_ from your poor, dear, old, _brother's life_ is anything at all to go by—which I know it is. So…let's not pretend like _I'm_ the one being mean to Alec here—or even like what I'm saying isn't something you're _feeling._ Because his perfect version of you?—definitely not boinking someone you've been quoted as describing as _the prettiest girl you've ever seen_ and so on and so forth."

"I feel _awful_ —" she interjected. And she _did._ She closed her eyes, "He doesn't deserve this. And—I don't even know how I got here."

"If you don't know how you got here you're missing my point," Then, he sounded like Leroy, "Flowers _should_ bloom, and get pollinated. Bees are out there for a _reason_ —"

She nearly choked on a sudden laugh, "Please don't give me this talk…"

"You clearly need to hear it," she could hear his smile, "I'm just saying…you're really prone to setting yourself up for more pressure than the situation calls for. This is the answer. No— _find it within you_ bullshit. Legit— _this_ is what you need to do. Give him back his ring, break his heart, and—be free to live your life. That's— _honestly—_ the best version of this story for everyone."

"That doesn't guarantee I end up with Quinn."

She was surprised at herself that she'd said it out loud.

There was a bit of a pause before he answered.

"No one _ever_ guaranteed that."

"Yeah, but—" She felt stupid but, this was the only other person she'd ever admit this all to, "I—what will have been the _point_? It's not like I'm going to get Quinn, and if I don't then—I gave him up just to fuck some girl that eventually will—stop texting me back when I try to reach her and…disappear altogether…and I'll be hung-up and have _still_ broken Alec's heart and we'll both be alone and sad and it'll have been my stupid fault. And his mom will talk— _so_ much shit about me."

"Rachel…" His voice was softer than she'd been expecting it to be.

"I know it's…just high school—but I've known him for years, and I've loved him for years and…Quinn is what I'm getting wrong here," she renewed her reserve—all she needed to do was remind herself that Quinn wasn't _an option_. Quinn didn't want to be. She made it a point, and everything.

"God—I just have to stop fucking her. I'll—pray, or—something. Maybe I'll buy a chastity belt."

He guffawed. She loved that laugh the best. The one—when she's being particularly ridiculous by his estimation.

"How—like— _Jesus_ —how into this chick _are_ you? Is it really going to be _that_ hard to stop slipping her your little Ms. Rachel Berry at her every beck and call?"

"Yes," Rachel didn't hesitate. She really never lied to him (hence not being able to talk to him at all for months), "My closest guess—if I had to put it in terms you can easily understand—it's like if Ryan Gosling fucked you like an animal for a few hours every night. Heart-wrenching, convulsing orgasms. Abs rippling everywhere. And then…mysterious words muttered into your mouth at all the perfect moments—and—"

" _Stop_ —Jesus, I'm gonna come if you keep going."

She wondered if anyone stopped to stare at him because by the sounds she could tell he was walking down the street, probably on his way to the subway.

"Well now you're privy to my dilemma."

"I _told_ you what to do."

She hated how black-and-white he painted everything. But she needed (sometimes) to see things that way. It was so stark.

"I have to stop sleeping with her."

He snorted, "Good luck."

3

Next afternoon, she was wrapped up in Quinn's covers. Apparently, the girl had forgiven her—for talking too much, or whatever it was that she'd done the day before (prior to the talk with Demetri).

Rachel watched her sleep, thinking of all the ways she'd make her miserable if she ever _were_ , her girlfriend.

 _You'd get a thousand texts a day_.

She squinted at her, almost resentfully.

 _You'd quit cigarettes._

 _You'd take school less lightly._

 _You'd meet my gay dads, my gay brother, my whole extended gay family. There'd be outings. Antiquing. Tea parties. Picnics. Museums. Carnivals._

 _You'd get dragged along to plays, and musicals. Concerts._

 _You'd clean your room, you slob._

 _You'd open up. You'd have to tell me who you are._

 _You'd have to kiss me gently sometimes. Without the intent to fuck._

 _You'd hate your life, Quinn._

 _You'd probably—end up killing me._

She watched the girl roll around, over to face her side. Her legs were soon wrapped over Rachel's.

 _You're lucky it's soon to be over. Before I can't control the urge to girlfriend you to death._

Rachel sighed. She felt like a werewolf, watching the sky get dark.


	5. Headband

A/N: Thanks for all your comments : ). Helps me to know I'm not the only perv out there. This chapter accidentally started skipping perspectives. Can't commit to anything ;) even the most basic literary structure. Oh well, here we go.

0

White knee socks and a white headband was all Quinn had left on her.

Already, she was coming over without panties, braless, for her—walking three awkward blocks between their apartment buildings. It was getting cold out. She arrived at Quinn's with already very hard nipples. The girl smirked, pointedly, at them from the _door_. That's how long she'd lasted. Not at all.

 _Fucking pervert._

Rachel accepted her 'hello' kiss. They were the softest in Quinn's repertoire (that she knew so far). And they were always almost surprisingly gentle. Rachel liked that they existed between them, precisely because it had so little to do with sex. It was custom. It was a proper greeting between them that had to be there.

It was one of many reasons she was sure they were definitely _more_ than nothing. But—she'd chosen to let this go. That meant not logging evidence maniacally, categorically.

Of course, tonight made it her fourth failure at breaking things off. Once Quinn kissed her it didn't take long to find herself as she was (white knee socks, white headband—otherwise naked).

She was wet on Quinn's mattress, facing her and breathing just a little heavily—trying not to shake when she felt Quinn bite her shoulder. Mostly-yellow-hazel looked at her like she owned her; dragging those fingers down Rachel's throat after she'd fingered her, making her choke a little.

(To be clear—she gagged because Quinn liked hearing her do it).

Quinn smirked, enjoying the show; sticky fingers slid back up Rachel's tongue.

"Go on—lick your fucking cum off my knuckles."

It was sighed in a timbre that made Rachel's heartbeat rise, her temperature. And of course, her tongue peeked out to obey; snaking around Quinn's digits.

This all felt so familiar now, it was almost scary.

Everything about it—

 _The smell of Quinn's room, her hair._

 _The way the black cotton feels under my knees._

 _It's all so_ fucking _familiar._

Quinn leaned down to suck on her nipple and Rachel felt it everywhere, like an all-over-body electric shock to wake her rudely from a nice coma. It wasn't long before she had to pull Quinn's head away and distract her with a kiss.

 _She likes my breasts far too much._

It was all a blur. How time goes by and things don't change even though she'd set her mind to change them—and she was here, searching Quinn's tongue for a taste of her own pussy; in that same heady place she'd been in for months.

What made her keep crawling on the floor?

 _Whore._

The thought made her pussy contract, and a shiver rise up her spine.

Was she really so bad?—It really felt so good.

Especially when Quinn watched.

1

Quinn watched her crawl the length of the mattress to her lap; she was nuzzling her cunt with her nose when she got there.

Quinn's mouth hung open—she loved watching Rachel move around that space between her thighs; the way her dark mane bobbed as she worked on her.

She pushed Quinn back, settled into her lap; hovering over her naked pussy (not for the first time that night, at all). She looked up at her and felt like a good— _pet_. The word felt weird, but correct. At least in the moment.

She made the tongue-work elaborate, for Quinn's eyes; pulling back so she could see it spiral.

Quinn sunk much deeper into the pillows, obviously interested (and far past content). Her eyes glittered so mischievously. She started humping up into Rachel's face, still a little softly.

Rachel didn't tell her this but if she gave Quinn the pressure she was seeking right away, then the girl tended to come too fast and ruined the fun. However, she'd had her twice before that very night so she let her get away with it. She stopped trying to hold her thighs down and sucked her in; pushed into her.

With _feeling_. With all the passion with which she wanted things. _Badly._

Quinn exhaled pure heavy pleasure. She thought that it should be illegal—what the fuck rolled through her in waves.

 _Wow, Rachel—fuck_ raced through her head but nothing made it past her open mouth. She was pretty speechless; watching Rachel while she did it.

She wasn't watching Rachel eat her out—she was watching Rachel worship. Like how some people really get up early on Sunday out of a sense of veneration for something.

She was pretty sure her cunt could get Rachel up early Sundays.

Wait.

 _It has._

She watched the hollow spot that formed in Rachel's jaw when she sucked on her pussy, really-truly loving it.

"Fuck, Rachel—I really turned you into a pro."

Her hips were rolling up. Her breath was heavy, ready to conjure up curse words.

Her pussy owned most of Rachel's face, by the time she came in her mouth.

2

And of course it gives Quinn a sudden, new, violent spark of energy (sometimes part of what Rachel wanted out of this deal; this time included)

Quinn's palm was warm as it cupped her slit. Rachel shivered on it, readily spreading herself.

What it made her, she didn't care.

Her legs were spread too far for her to care right now. Whatever inhibitions she had were dripping down her thighs.

Because Quinn was doing too many wonderful things to her pussy to say no right _then_. It was a time to lose control. Or maybe it always was if Quinn was in the picture.

She was thrown face-first onto Quinn's covers.

She twisted her neck to be able to look at her (because her face was on the mattress, and her ass was in the air, and Quinn was hovering _behind_ her). Something about it felt almost suspenseful.

The dark look on Quinn's face made her heart race. The girl never looked sexier to her than with nothing-but-a-harness-on.

Quinn held her down (arms crossed at her lower back), and fucked up into her while Rachel's eyes rolled back. She could see stars.

At just the thought of who was fucking her, she could come. The cock pummeling through her sensitive walls at just the right speed and depth was just Quinn scoring bonus points.

Showing off.

Quinn gripped her hips, eyes concentrated on her ass as it bounced up and down on her.

She loved the sound Rachel made when she penetrated her all the way to the base of the toy; like something vital was being ripped from inside her—then slammed back in with grace.

 _That paradoxical push and pull that makes this, truly, a special act._

It was to be her last sober reflection.

All she could think hearing Rachel scream was that she wanted to put her dick in that open mouth.

A thousand ways to shut her up flashed through her head.

And not long after—she came behind that fucking harness.

3

Suffice it to say no bond was broken that day.

Rachel was just so much better at leaving Quinn satisfied than telling her no.

She wasn't really surprisedor anything.

She wasn't going to shake Quinn off _easily,_ that was obvious. Well—because she didn't want to. And she was notoriously bad at denying herself. To not go after Quinn was against her very nature. Unlike the EGOT though, Quinn was actually unattainable.

Besides, that afternoon a care package had arrived for her—from Alec. A bunch of slightly awkward snacks he'd found in farmers markets over the last few months. All 100% vegan, organic, what-have-you.

She felt like a _bitch,_ undeniably. Well, she'd been one.

She cried for a while, really resolved to end it.

And when she wiped her tears, she dressed to go to Quinn's.

No text to ask (clumsily) if she could. And she was keeping her fucking underwear on.

4

She didn't know why she felt sort of angry at _her. At everything_.

Nothing ever broke evenly.

Someone would always hurt a little more.

When she and Quinn had crashed into each other, Rachel had sensed that with them it would be _her._ You always see it coming—but tend to defer to the adventure. Especially when you've got a chance at a girl so pretty. So destructive.

But it had to end now.

It absolutely had to—before the fall got any taller on her.

The knock on the door was sharp.

The pause was maybe fifteen seconds but felt like forever. She begged the entire universe to not let it be one of Quinn's weird, alternative, badly-tatted roommates.

 _Thanks universe. But also—fuck you._

Because Quinn was in her _Queen_ shirt. And she looked so good in band tees. And faded jeans. And a very Cheshire smile, pink against her pale skin. All relaxed. Like she'd _expected_ her.

"Hey, you."

Rachel sighed. _This_ is what happened.

Quinn charmed her.

She bit her lip; momentarily wished she'd skipped the underwear—in case Quinn might be turned off on account of it.

But—no. Wasn't it there to remind her, of her mission?

The 'hello' kiss lingered longer than usual—Quinn's lips felt hotter than usual, she swore it. They were somehow sweeter too.

Rachel pushed her back a little, and stumbled into the house.

Quinn locked the door behind them as Rachel stepped in.

Then, she was behind her—holding her with a hard forearm against her midsection.

She whispered in her ear, "I'm so fucking happy you're here, Rachel."

Rachel _loved_ when she said her name.

 _And she probably knows that._

Quinn pressed hot kisses up her neck—they were soft, unexpectedly.

It made Rachel's breath catch in her throat. It was just nice to have Quinn hold her like that.

She closed her eyes, and for a second—just let her. She couldn't remember Quinn's mouth ever being this languid or reverent.

 _Who taught you to go slow for once?_

She found herself frowning at the thought and took a step out of those very warm arms (Quinn's hands had been already midway to her breasts; pushing up against her sternum).

She cleared her throat. Like it would help. And said, to Quinn, still standing-still behind her, "I—we need to talk."

Rachel almost laughed at herself— _what_ perfect _phrasing…to continue my streak of being a hackneyed cliché; slashing through whoever just to keep playing this part._

She heard Quinn sort of sigh, and turned around. Her face seemed almost flushed.

"Rachel," she said, "I'm—to be honest—pretty stoned right now."

Rachel stared—for what seemed to Quinn a minute, with a sex-doll-perfect 'oh' sort of gape on her mouth.

Quinn would find it funny—but her heart was racing a bit, and a cold sweat was likely in her near future.

"I uh," she licked slightly-chapped lips, "My friend Santana was over earlier—she came to visit, from, from New York, where she um… _lives_ , and um we…we smoke, each of us. And I had some—that was particularly… _incredible_ , so when she came I—we smoked—and then she left like…I want to say, fifteen minutes ago. And now _you're_ here…and I'm…still pretty high. And incredibly talkative. And incredibly _honest_. And I kind of bet you're here to break things off today. And I guess it's good timing. 'Cause you're probably like: _freaked,_ and glad to get away _._ Back to—Mr. Perfect Future Guy. So…okay. I've— _been_ ready. Go for it."

Rachel kept staring.

She was stuck very near to Quinn's first few sentences.

Because _who is she?_

"You," she finally spoke, her voice terrifyingly small, "You have a friend…named Santana…who comes over, from New York. And…you, you get high with—her?"

" _Occasionally_ we get high," Quinn nodded, "Yes."

A lot of things flashed through Rachel's mind (even—briefly—an acute understanding of how crazy she was about to appear).

 _What—what does she look like?_

 _Is she—prettier?_

Her stomach turned; her heart fell dizzily into it.

 _Wait._

 _Are there more of us?_

 _Is she just the first one to be mentioned?_

 _How—_

White hot anger seized her—sort of how the evil queen clutched the apple.

Because—

 _How much is even—being shared?_

 _Just Quinn or—everything?_

It was revolting, really—the thought.

"Have you been using the same toys on us?"

It was accusing, and—she realized now, sounded pretty preposterous. It shouldn't have been the first thing to come out of her mouth, probably, since Quinn had not gone through her thought process _with_ her.

She watched a justifiably befuddled pair of hazel eyes widen, then…begin to understand.

 _Fuck._

Rachel never wanted them to be that hue again. She never wanted to receive that _expression_ again.

Quinn scoffed and shook her head.

" _Boy_ are you lucky I'm high because—"

She kept shaking her head.

"That's like—the worst thing anyone's thought about me probably. And you should meet my dad. It would make the statement—it'd put it into some good _perspective_ for you."

Rachel began to feel small.

And all this—because she was scared the girl she was cheating on Alec with was…cheating on _her_. She could win awards for being awful.

She watched Quinn's jaw flex, feeling fully chastised, but recognizing she probably deserved more than that.

Her eyes were droll, and her tone was dry, "She's a _friend_. Fully gay—but fully _taken_. By another good friend. And I'd never—she's a friend; a platonic friend I've never touched like that. I know I'm supposed to be your convenient fucktoy but…I assume I'm allowed to have those?"

Of course she was, Rachel thought. Of course she _did._ Quinn probably had many friends she didn't fuck.

 _Rachel_ was—the girl—

 _I'm the one._ I'm _the girl she fucks. The girl she just fucks. She doesn't converse or get high with me. I—text her, come over, get fucked, and go home._

 _She didn't even ever trick me into thinking it was something else._

 _I'm just a wishful thinker with a very willful mindset. I just tried to turn it into what—it wasn't. Distorting the truth for my own emotional benefit…like I do._

She couldn't stop the stupid crying.

It was blurry, but she saw Quinn's eyes grow soft. And pity her.

She shook her head, almost violently.

"Rachel," Quinn said. And she didn't like it that time. Because it teetered off at the end. It didn't end hard—the way Quinn usually did it.

"I'm sorry," she was saying, _finally,_ "I'm—stupid."

Quinn pulled her into her arms. She hugged her and even lifted her into it a little. It was…sort of like Demetri's hugs when she was younger and cried much harder, more easily.

Quinn kissed her hair, " _I'm_ sorry. Sorry I got mad. Just—people seem to usually peg me as a bad person and I…I'm insecure about it. I could see how you'd…misinterpret. And I mean…you don't know me so well, and we never talked about it. I'm not fucking anyone else. I swear. And I'm not…going to. I'm…good with _one_. I promise I won't. If I ever wanted to I'd…you know, I'd tell you."

Rachel gripped her t-shirt. Her nose was right on Quinn's chest; under her collarbone, above her breast—where her heart was. She loved her perfume…loved the way it smelled on her _specifically._

"Why aren't we friends?"

It came out almost a whisper.

Quinn took a second catching up again.

"We are."

"We're _not_ —is your truth serum wearing off? Can we get more?"

Quinn snorted, "Oh you want to get high with me?"

"Yes."

Quinn's still-slightly-hazy eyes flipped to the ceiling, _Are you punishing me, imaginary childhood bully-friend?_

"Seriously?"

Rachel didn't even blink.

"Can I where…I don't actually have to smoke it?"

Quinn nodded slowly, "I have a vape pen I use sometimes. At a low setting it's pretty much just air with weed molecules in it."

She watched Rachel roll her eyes.

" _Weed_ molecules."

"If you wanted to fuck a chem major you _could_ have."

Rachel smirked. Quinn was coming back into herself—she could almost _see_ her edges getting sharper.

She wiped at her face and shot Quinn her winning smile, "Are you going to introduce me to the world of drugs or _should_ I find a chem major?"

Quinn licked her lips, "I like how _I_ have to be loyal…"

But she grabbed Rachel's wrist and pulled her towards her room.

At the door, she stopped and looked at her a little seriously, "You're sure?—I mean, we could just hang out—without—"

It wasn't a surprise to Quinn (at that point quite intimately acquainted with Rachel's special-brand of stubbornness) to see her nodding; not even letting her finish the sentence.

"I want to—" Rachel fixed her with an unnecessarily serious (bordering on poignant) brown stare, "I want to smoke with you…talk…and _hang out_ —like friends. Is that—okay? Would you—with me?"

Quinn felt slow to catch up again—only because she thought it should be obvious.

"Of _course_."

 _. . ._

A/N: The next chapter is going to be…fucking fun to write.

:D


	6. Friends who fuck

A/N: I mentioned a bunch of stuff I don't own -_-. I didn't have anything to do with these awesome songs. My soul isn't that beautiful :'). But yeah, I pretty liberally use lyrics and drop song names but I'm also poor and don't own any of those things. Also, I don't make money off _this_ thing.

PS there will be good movement and bad movement in this and following chapters. Things will get more complicated after this one. But, in the end of this story, everyone will learn and grow, and faberry will end up together.

Authors have to say shit like this sometimes before they start hitting you with the angst.

0

Rachel had imagined Quinn would answer the door for her that night and—thrown off by the uncustomary lack of warning, be _cold_ to her.

It was supposed to have made it easier. Raised the tension. Set up the stage for a tight fight scene and— _cut._ Everyone go home. Forget you ever played this part.

It was a cowardly tactic but, she'd actually felt pretty sure that's how it would've gone.

 _Maybe it_ is _how it would've gone—if—it hadn't been for the—_

It made sense to her then, that the girl was— _blazed._

She watched her make a quick playlist for them; hunched over her laptop, plugging in her speakers after about five frustrating tries with the USB.

Her eyes still carried a bit of a haze, and a drag to the lids that—really just made her all the more attractive to Rachel. She'd always favored Quinn's unfazed expressions at everything and her apparent predilection to distraction while high sort of emphasized the quality (especially in her eyes, which were particularly bright).

She sighed at herself, right as the thought finished processing.

Was _everything_ about this girl supposed to make her horny?

She stood in Quinn's room, beneath its soft amber lighting, her hands crossed across her chest because she didn't know what else to do with them.

This was the first time she'd been in Quinn's room where she was anything other than the girl's sexual focal-point, and she felt suddenly _shy_.

It was the first time they were going to be—hanging out.

What if Quinn decided she really did suck?

 _What if she figures out, tonight, that it was only ever physical attraction?_

 _That I'm an…annoying loser, like they used to call me._

 _What if she regrets fucking me, after really…meeting me?_

Her breathing was unwillingly shallow.

Jefferson Airplane's _White Rabbit_ started to play.

She watched Quinn give one last satisfied look at the laptop screen before she ducked down and reached for the second-to-last drawer in her dresser. She pulled out a couple of things and set them right at her night-stand—pastel-colored glass, the small black pen, and a few dram amber pill bottles filled with—weed. Which Rachel was now (sort of) seeing for the first time.

Quinn tossed her a look, and squinted her eyes at her (as if she were only just regarding her stance), " _Sit down_ , weirdo."

Rachel did, primly on her bed, amongst her many pillows. Quinn-smell was everywhere…along with the smell of pot now, which was in the air and blending with some wildberry incense Quinn had lit prior to focusing on the music.

Rachel smirked, the spark of recognition hitting her, "So _that's_ the smell in your room sometimes!—this weird _blend_."

Quinn grinned back at her, sitting to the left of her. Her hands were busy loading up the pen for Rachel with some ground-up, bright green, glittery herb.

Rachel stared, curiously, at it all. She loved watching Quinn do _anything_. The girl's hands were so elegant. And her approach to everything was so graceful and _precise_.

 _The concentrated pout-frown—and god, when she licks her lips._

Next song: Joy Division, _Heart and Soul._ Rachel secretly really hoped she recognized all of them. She'd be pretty proud.

Then, Quinn looked up; biting her smile.

"Okay," she said, handing Rachel the pen, "So it's already set at the lowest temperature, just press the button five times and it'll start, vaporizing the weed then…turn green when it's ready to go. Take sips from it then…you don't have to like, _suck it in_ like you see in movies, with joints or pipes. It works differently. Just breathe it in a little, that way you don't cough or anything."

Rachel nodded, pressing the button five times and seeing it light up—only _red_. She waited.

Quinn reached for a small, pale-blue bong and pink lighter on her nightstand, "Mind if I smoke? I'll be courteous."

The way she smiled after made Rachel blush. She just nodded.

Her pen lit green.

 _Ready to go._

She pressed it to her lips (a silicone tip over its mouth so as not to burn her) and she _sipped_ , how she was supposed to.

It tasted faintly of warm popcorn, filling her mouth—she exhaled, not smoke, more of a film; a coat of vapor.

She watched Quinn's mouth pout to exhale, aimed far from her, a small, milky cloud of smoke.

Rachel laughed, "You look like a dragon."

Quinn smiled, "I can make rings—wanna see?"

Pixies, _Is she weird?_

Rachel was loving this.

She and Quinn never had the sort of sex where…music played in the background. So she really had no frame of reference, for what Quinn listened to (and of course she wondered about it pretty often—being who she was). She was happy to be able to say she'd guessed Quinn's tastes pretty accurately.

She looked up and Quinn was watching her expectantly—her lighter poised over the little bowl of weed atop her bong, ready. Rachel could _kiss_ her.

She nodded, her mouth around her pen, sucking lightly.

She watched Quinn hit the bong and smirk with her cheeks full, holding the smoke in her mouth before exhaling it into three perfect white rings for her.

Rachel delighted mostly at Quinn's proud smirk after, and smiled so wide she felt it as it stretched across her face.

She watched Quinn do it a few more times—hitting the pen at every interval wherein she felt the urge to grab her by the back of the head and just— _make out_.

Like this, she was getting pretty high.

She bit her lip at Quinn.

"Any other tricks?"

Quinn frowned, thinking, "We can try a shotgun—that's where I take the hit then, I hold it in my mouth and, blow it into yours. So, we um—sort of share it."

Rachel thought she could see Quinn swallow.

 _And her head has no room!_

Perfect moment for the song to reach its peak—and abruptly end.

Hazel flitted away from chestnut, "But um—I'm not sure if you want to _smoke_ -smoke. On account of your— _voice_. I mean—I don't want…anything bad to happen to it."

Rachel frowned.

It took her a second but—

Incubus, _The Original_.

It filled her chest up with warmth. She felt a distinct lack of worry. She'd always really liked that song. It was beautiful.

 _Wait—are these—is any of this, maybe…_ for _me?_

 _Or are these just—songs Quinn enjoys listening to whilst high?_

She took a hit off the pen, and met Quinn's eyes.

The girl was waiting.

 _Oh._

Rachel exhaled, more filmy mist—she was starting to taste the subtleties; some citrus, some earthiness. It was—very _nice._

"I've heard from various sources that it's not anywhere near as harmful as a _cigarette_. So—let's try. Plus, it won't be like I'm sucking in too much right into my throat. You'll be—blowing it in, right?"

Quinn nodded, a little giddy in anticipation of getting to put her mouth on Rachel's, "Okay. Yeah, cool."

She pressed the bong to her lips, and lit it. She held what ended up being a sizable hit, in her chest, and; setting the bong back on the night-stand, drew up on her knees to get close to Rachel. She held the girl by the waist, and pressed them together. Her lips pouted on top of Rachel's full ones—and she blew the hit inside her before sealing with a kiss.

She watched Rachel hold it in a second or two and blow it out. The entirety of the cloud Quinn had swallowed, Rachel blew out like a champion.

" _Nice_ ," Quinn licked her lips. It'd been sort of hot. She didn't have the discipline to back off, or let go of the girl's waist. At her most pretentious, she liked to think of herself as a gentlewoman—but she really wasn't. Truth was, she really-really wasn't. Case in point—any time she's had a chance to seduce Rachel, she (without a fight) took it.

The girl looked at her, eyes black and unfocused.

Quinn giggled, "Oh you're high _now_."

Rachel nodded—she felt…bubbly, a bit. Heady, and relaxed, and ready to be free. She couldn't take her eyes off Quinn's lips. Well, she didn't try to.

"Have I ever told you?—I love your mouth. You have, you have the most _gorgeous_ mouth I've ever seen."

She ran a hot palm down the side of Quinn's face; lovingly cupping it.

"No," Quinn sighed, "You never told me—but I could tell. Every time I put it on you, I could _tell_ you loved it."

Rachel _swooned_ basically—she wasn't about to deny it. Her heart raced with all the feelings she had for Quinn—that she'd been holding back. She took a sharp breath, and looked away from Quinn's face to her collarbone. Sometimes she couldn't stand it.

"I hate how _perfect_ you are—it's so scary being around you sometimes."

Quinn backed off then. Her posture seemed to fall; body no longer pressed against Rachel's (to her deep regret).

She said, pretty quietly, "Don't _do_ that to me."

Rachel looked up at her. Her eyes were unbelievably vulnerable, _open_. Like she'd never seen them.

 _You're a skeleton-key, opening me—my my; your mind it is original. Girl, you're_ the _original._

 _Always were—and always…will be._

Rachel felt as if she (definitely) didn't live up to the words.

 _Funny, how I ever thought they'd be_ meant _for me._

"Did I say…something wrong?"

Radiohead, _Talk Show Host._

Unmistakable. Immediately recognizable.

She watched hard hazel soften; take on warmer amber hues.

Her jaw flexed once before she started to speak, "Every person I've dated, or have had…a-anything to _do_ with, has said some, you know, _variation_ of that. All in a similar tone. And it's just like…high school again—the slack-jawed football-player boyfriends. Sam and Finn looking up under the pedestal I was all alone in."

Rachel bit her lip. She hated their names.

"People _do that_ to me all the time. They act like…I'm not real. Just like those two seventeen-year old boys did back then. Like I was…a picture, that came to life for them. And any time I showed any…actual emotion…they'd look at me _like that_ — with some fucking amazement. Like it wasn't supposed to happen. I know I can be…stoic, and _dry_ … at my worst, kind of an ass—but I'm not—I'm _not_ heartless."

Rachel found it hard—to close her mouth. Her expression swaying between sad and dumbfounded.

"Just—" Quinn started to look a little self-conscious, "It just makes it easy for people to shove me aside—thinking I don't _feel._ I'm always…going to be okay. And when I'm _not,_ there's no one ever there. What I'm asking I guess—just, don't ever put me on any pedestal."

Rachel nodded, wholeheartedly agreeing, "I won't."

Quinn smiled at her.

"And know that—if, if there's anything you want to say to me—you don't have to be _afraid._ I know you came to talk. I'm never…I'm never going to be mean to you, on purpose."

Rachel watched her curiously.

 _A rubix cube that resets itself at will, Quinn is._

Or maybe—she, herself, was just an asshole for _assuming_ , preemptively, that Quinn was unattainable to her. Or anything other than…this girl, in front of her now; smiling, open and a little languid. That's all that Quinn was. And it _was_ amazing. Though not— _perfect_. And she wasn't sure how she felt about the word anymore now anyway. Because nothing ever truly _was_ , was it?

Brand New's cover of Built to Spill's _Car_. She didn't know there had ever _been_ one.

"What are we—how, how do you…define us? Because it would hurt to be…as little as a fuck to you, honestly."

The words were out before she _could_ stop them. And she was glad to have them out of her head then. Her nerves thankfully, were pretty well blunted by the high. They were dandelion puffs dismantling under her breath.

Quinn sank back into the pillows and motioned for her to lie down too. Rachel did—feeling warm, and euphoric. It rippled down her stomach; then _lower_.

Smelling Quinn on the covers was almost too much for her eager senses. The girl grabbed for her hand, and Rachel—without hesitation—laced their fingers together. It was a firm hold. It was everything she needed it to be.

"Fuck," Quinn started, her voice hitting the tremulous lows Rachel loved it for, "Is what we _do_ …not; it's not a word to _describe_ anyone with. I…I've been careful not to…harbor any _illusions_ about us, because you have a _fiancé_."

That last statement, Quinn seemed to emphasize—her voice almost willfully clear.

"But I've never—written away…your _existence_."

Quinn licked her lips, pretty glad to be high. It made it so much easier for her to be able to wrap her words around the empathy she definitely _felt_. Sober, behind her walls…it would never leak out of the line of her proud fucking mouth.

"I _couldn't…_ ever just write you off. And as far as definition…I'm not sure what I'm _allowed_ to be in your life, either. I suppose you're… _Rachel_. And to me…that word, it—it means—a _lot_."

Okay. She definitely wasn't more _eloquent_ high. Just less defensive.

"You're not something floating outside of my life," Quinn finally settled on, "You're _in_ it."

"In a _corner_ of it," Rachel huffed, like a coward, under her breath—and _knew_ it was unfair. But she wasn't about to start being reasonable—not right then.

Quinn squeezed her hand, "You'd never settle for anything less than _center stage_ —even when it comes to your _mistress_."

Rachel giggled, reflexively. They both knew it was meant to sound ridiculous, but then—it was accurate, wasn't it?

"So what would you like?"

Quinn asked, pretty simply.

"What do you want? I wouldn't deny you anything."

Maybe if Rachel knew more about her than a handful of things the statement would've meant more. Because it certainly wasn't anything Quinn Fabray had ever said before _._

It washed over Rachel, delectably—like warm water after a long cold day. Because all she'd ever wanted was for Quinn to wrap herself around her _finger_ already, and obey her every whim.

"I want—" she started, her heart filling up like a red balloon, "I want to spend time with you outside of…sex in your room. I want to…meet for coffee, and know about your life, and…and _you_ , your past, your dreams. I want to be friends. Friends…who fuck."

Quinn bit her lip.

What she was asking her to do was— _date_. Essentially. With no chance of a future—because her future was back home (the reminder always glinting gold around her finger). Quinn recognized it as a sucker move; an obvious one.

But then—she'd promised not to deny her.

She sighed.

She could tread the line (for her) and still keep her head clear. Even being—Rachel's friend who fucked her. She wouldn't falter—she hadn't _yet_.

"Okay."

Rachel beamed. It was worth it.

She rolled over to hug Quinn; arms around her neck. She kissed along her hard jaw.

Taking Back Sunday's acoustic cover of _Just like Heaven._

Rachel felt like she was there—unadulterated bliss-land.

"Is there anything _you_ want?" She asked her, whispering it right below her ear.

"Anal," Quinn said, sort of hopefully (not _really_ joking). But also because she didn't even want to give herself a _chance_ to say, 'dump him already—go on this journey with me _for real_ , like I'm worth the risk.'

"Okay."

It was pretty easy; didn't even take up to a _second_.

Quinn stared at her, and Rachel shrugged, "My _brother's_ gay and he's—my best friend. We talk pretty openly for siblings. I'm—not afraid. I know…you know what you're doing. Just—not with—"

Brown eyes dragged themselves towards the direction of Quinn's dresser—her sex drawer.

"No," Quinn agreed, still a little dazed that this was a real discussion and not a thought she was having, horny at 3 am, hand moving deliberately, under her panties, "No—I'd go—down to the shop and get some smaller ones—so you can choose—"

"The _shop_ ," Rachel shook her head, "Such _familiarity._ Can't I—just go too? So I can…pick things out? You're awfully totalitarian with our sex life, Quinn Fabray."

Quinn eyed her ceiling. It seemed awfully close.

 _Oh sure—let's go to the sex shop together. Pick things out. Like good friends do all the time. Then, head home—so I can find out what it takes to make your asshole gape for me._

She swallowed.

"Okay."

Rachel closed her eyes.

Because she loved this. Because she wanted to stretch this time out; let it take over all those other awful things life consists of—things that are too hard to think about.

And yeah, she was horny (she was finding it to be a definite side-effect of the drug—her pulse found a home in her clitoris, and lost control)—but this felt better than sex right then. To hold hands and be close. To listen to music in the dark of Quinn's room.

Quinn held her hand—although Rachel's ring was so cool it was _hot_ ; biting her between her fingers.

She held it; because Rachel seemed content.


	7. Sex Shop

A/N: Thanks for all the love! A lot of plot this chapter, have fun. Rachel is sort of cray, guys.

0

 _The ghost of the fucking 11-inch boner that possesses my clitoris every time she steps into view_ — _Jesus—every-fucking-time…_

From her car, Quinn watched Rachel skip down all the many steps of her apartment building (and reminisced about her clit's demon-boner possession).

The sun was falling, just to make Rachel glow on her way down—like a goddess, golden.

It was nice out. The air was crisp but not too cold. She took a deep breath and tried to let it lower her temperature.

Rachel had insisted on having Quinn _pick her up_.

Everything in her head screamed WHY!? But it couldn't matter.

 _I don't care. I can't care about_ anything _._

It was the promise she'd made to herself—the last time she'd gotten fucked over. Never to _really_ give her heart away again.

Or at least 'till she was _older_ and things were realbetween people—not just so obviously a game.

Definitely not _now_. Definitely not to—

 _No._

She broke the tracks right from under that train of thought.

Struck it from her mind. Mentally sprayed it down with a super-soaker of holy water.

 _I'm not here to figure her out. I'm here to fuck her and be her friend._

 _That's it, isn't it?—What she asked for from me._

So—Rachel Berry could make as many peculiar demands as she wanted. It wasn't fogging up Quinn's head.

No.

It wasn't.

1

THE TIME: _an hour prior to Quinn's arrival at her apartment complex._

Rachel sat in front of her vanity, humming.

The songs from back in Quinn's room were now stuck in her head. They made her feel warm and lightheaded again—that loving euphoria.

But she felt a distinct lack of peace.

It was getting much harder to keep Quinn neatly in a box—filed far away in her apartment (which in itself felt like its own secret world).

It was getting hard because of _this_ —Rachel sat applying make-up (at the moment a pink, shimmering gloss for her lips), in preparation of _an outing_ with her.

Quinn wasn't in one (dark, hidden) place anymore. They were officially more than nothing. They were friends. Quinn _agreed_. She was picking her up.

Rachel got what she wanted even without thinking she could. _So much for the law of attraction._

But _still_. The guilt surged, and multiplied. What usually lasted from the length of her walk (of shame) from Quinn's apartment to hers now permeated her thoughts for hours _._

She really was cheating on him.

It was stupid to keep denying it. Stupid to keep doing it—not even putting up a pretense that she was _trying_ to stop. She was on her way to a sex-shop with her… _side-piece_. This was fully happening.

She had his icon open on her phone.

His warm green eyes, his floppy hair—and the familiar smile. The first smile she'd ever kissed. _Alec's_ smile. At fifteen, it had given her butterflies.

There was a doubt—a _fear_ , that kept her from calling.

Because—what if Quinn was just what she wanted for _this_ fleeting second, and then it went away.

What if she was losing Alec over nothing?

But—we're _not_ nothing.

She and Quinn had deduced that a few days ago. And in order to _really_ advance their relationship (friendship), she had to give up Alec.

It didn't feel _okay_. To be not-nothing with Quinn and still be his girlfriend. It wasn't fair to anyone except her.

So she pressed on his face—right above his button-nose.

It rang just a few times.

"Babe!" He'd greeted her with. The word dragged out and delivered excitedly, "You haven't called in _forever_."

A pang of guilt. Another echo layered above all the others.

"Hi."

It was a little pathetic.

"Is everything okay?"

His concern made her sick. She'd probably be making him sick soon too.

Her mouth felt dry and her tongue felt heavy. An image of his smile flashed behind her eyes again.

"I have to tell you something and it's really, really bad."

There was a moment of silence, then he muttered the smallest "oh."

"And you're going to hate me."

She sounded like a four-year old, and realized it. But sort of felt it too. And she owed him at least her bravery now.

She swore she could _hear_ the light fading from his eyes.

When he finally spoke, he said, "You know I won't."

 _He_ was being brave. And _lying_. His voice had an edge. She could tell he was a little scared. She knew that he wasn't really sure he wouldn't hate her.

But that was good.

Because she maybe did something he'd despise her for. And she knew it, as she did it. Knew it, as she was keeping it secret for months.

"I'm—I'm an asshole."

And she felt like crying about it. The pressure burned behind her eyes, but she closed them. Tight. And held the tears at bay.

"Rachel," his voice was heavier; a little more anxious, "Please—whatever it is, you can tell me."

 _Stop fighting who you are._

 _Just admit it._

"I've been sleeping with someone else."

On the other line—a sharp exhale. She guessed he'd been holding his breath.

"Are—are you serious?"

She nodded, then, feeling stupid, whispered, "Yes."

"How—wh—" He sounded sick, so she'd guessed correctly, before, "With _who_?"

"A girl—Quinn—I met in my English class."

Her own head felt heavy to her.

"Do you _love_ her?"

It was abrupt, harsh—accusatory.

"No."

She answered abruptly too.

"Then why—" he was beginning to sound flustered, "For _fun_ you're doing this?"

She sighed; and her heart hurt.

"No."

Why _was_ she doing this? It just made things worse—that she simply couldn't stop herself.

 _Weak will, no impulse control._ Those were her reasons.

"I—" his voice cracked, "When you came out—and said, that—that you were bi—I asked you if, if it was something you wanted to _try_. If you—wanted a break. And you told me _no_."

"That's not—" she felt like she was sinking, slowly, in the sand; and it didn't really matter whether she struggled—at best it would just expedite the process, "It's not about that, Alec. She just _happened_ to be a girl. I wasn't—looking to _find_ a girl. I wasn't looking for this—"

"So how did it happen?"

"I don't know," she confessed, and at that, tears came and ruined her mascara, "I really _don't_. And I don't want to lose you. But I tried to stop…and I just _can't._ "

She heard him scoff.

"Are you fucking serious?"

"I _am_ —" she looked into the mirror, at herself, "I'm serious. And I'm— _sorry_. I'll do whatever you want. But I—I know I'm…not going to be able to stop right now. Because I'm _me._ And I want it in a way where…I know I can't stop myself from…doing it. So you can dump me. And you've probably earned the right to curse me out too."

He sighed, and she knew he was curling himself into a ball on the floor (cold white tile of his room probably). He was small like she was. They were short together. He was five _four_ and constantly receiving jokes. But she'd never minded it.

"I'm sorry I hurt you—I really hate myself for it. And I'm sure you probably hate me too, but you've fucking earned it. Honestly."

There was a pause and then a very long sigh from him.

"I don't," he sounded small and far away, "I've always loved you. You've been the girl I wanted since _middle school_. And when I got you…I promised myself I'd never lose you. So—if you need to do this now…you…you _can_. I'll give you your freedom. We're in college, and we're _young_ , so I get it. But in the end—it has to be _us_. It was us in the start, and it has to…end that way. Please don't fall in love with someone else. Please—don't ever leave me."

She swallowed.

"I _won't_."

And he breathed in like he hadn't been able to in a while. Like he dove deep into water and was only just resurfacing after all those minutes they'd been talking, "Okay— _good_."

There was a pause between them that they maybe needed—while they waited for their hearts to slow down.

Then he sort of muttered, "Rachel?"

She wiped at her eyes with a wet towelette, "Yeah?"

"Is—is she—?"

Her heart palpitated, "What?"

He seemed to think for a moment.

" _Nothing_ —"

And she was relieved.

When he spoke again, she could tell he was trying his best to sound normal. And she was grateful.

"So—are you going to ask me about stuff or is this just—a heavy-on-the-angst with no fluffy chaser sort of phone call? Because that would really suck."

"How's the dancing?"

"Dancey."

She smiled, almost. And proceeded to put him on speaker, and fix her face in the mirror while he talked about strict instructors and hectic rehearsals.

Her mind was everywhere.

She made Quinn wait like ten minutes after she'd texted that she was parked outside her complex.

2

Quinn simply quirked a brow at her as she slipped into the passenger seat.

"Jeez—you'd _better_ look that good."

All the gold and green of Quinn's eyes rolled up and down her body. She wore, simply, a short black dress, white stockings, and black ballerina flats.

She'd thought it'd been sort of plain, and safe (she was trying harder to look less ridiculous by society's standards) but Quinn watched her and licked her lips. Rachel shivered in her seat.

It was so nice out that they kept the windows down. She got to see the setting sun's rays shine on the blonde of Quinn's hair, and give her a halo. As if she deserved one—the way her eyes glazed over when they gave up the pretense of watching the road, and fully fixed on her. Bright, verdant hazel under fairy lashes, flirting.

Rachel scolded her with a look but couldn't keep up the act either. And smiled.

"Um—I sort of have… _news_."

They turned into the heart of the city. Quinn watched her curiously, frowning a bit, "Like, breaking? Or—entertainment? General interest? The _arts_? It's the arts, isn't it? Something happened in _Broadway_?"

Rachel shook her head. She wasn't sure how Quinn would take it. With her, it was always a gamble. Her emotions swirled in a hazy, murky swamp where the fog liked to roll around. Rachel thought of herself as a clear pool of water.

She bit her lip.

"I confessed to my fiancé."

It came out…unintentionally matter-of-fact.

Now—to gauge her emotions.

The first clue was the length of the silence—uncomfortable. The second came from her grip on the steering wheel, both hands holding on so hard you could see the pale knuckles flex under the glowing skin. And the third—her jaw; tendons jumping to life, for a second visible.

Rachel could tell. Quinn was at _least_ tense.

Finally, in a low voice, "What—what did he say?"

Rachel took in and exhaled a deep breath. It seemed harder to explain than it'd seemed when it was happening.

"He—he was upset—but _understanding_ of—you know, everything. What with us being…young, and _apart_ , and everything. So…he actually says it's okay…as long as we end up together. I'm… _free_."

 _No you're not!_ Quinn thought forcefully—and could feel the argument kick and scream in her chest, _You just have a longer leash._

But what business was it of hers?

She wasn't a contender for Rachel's hand in marriage.

 _He got on one knee for her. I got on two. And as it stands—I get to fuck her in hard and abstract ways while he gets…to marry her one day. So what?_

 _I'm…by far the biggest winner here._

She turned into a parking spot, on the back entrance of the store.

"Cool," she said, "I'm honored to have his blessing. Did you ask, specifically, if I could fuck you in the ass tonight?—because without the 'okay' I'm not sure if I, you know, could feel all right about it."

At that, Rachel scoffed at her—and shook her head. And Quinn was happy to have her hate her for the moment—because it meant the subject would be dropped in favor of Rachel's brand of punishment (the silent treatment interspersed with random tantrum intervals that took the form of long passionate spiels). Quinn, by then, knew well how to traverse this.

She exited the car, and jogged around to open Rachel's door. The girl had her hands crossed at her chest. Quinn gave her a smirk, and offered her hand and—it worked. She was letting her hold it (after a rather cool glance up at her).

It was only a matter of time before her mood turned.

Rachel walked next to her. She hardly _ever_ got to be out with Quinn. Not since the party, really. And occasionally for a few minutes at school, if she happened to catch her attention.

It felt—surreal and electric. Quinn was so beautiful, it was almost like she could _reflect_ it onto whoever she was with. She felt the way glittering fairytale princesses _looked_ , dancing in the arms of their beloved—in front of the court's awed/appalled faces.

There was a sense of victory. A sense of warm elation (reminiscent of Quinn's marijuana). A sense of—irresponsible amounts of affection; making her stomach swirl opposite to the way it was used to.

It wasn't _more_ intense than her private moments with Quinn, but neither was it less so. It was just a different feeling. Being with Quinn publicly—that feeling dwelled in pride.

She looked over the length of the building they were walking into, practically framed in red and pink neon.

"This place is very big…and _showy_."

Quinn chuckled, "I _know_. I don't like those…back-alley, little rinky-dink porn shops. They tend to be filled with creeps. Or have…viewing booths, and other atrocities."

Rachel made a scrunched-up face and Quinn tried not to love her nose.

They walked in.

Rachel noted it was bright. And smelled of the same wildberry incense Quinn had burned in her room.

The size of it made it seem like a Toys 'R' Us for adults. The slat wall was filled with all _sorts_ of things. Rachel could hardly focus on a single item at a time.

She turned to Quinn, "I don't forgive you for never having taken me here before."

Quinn rolled her eyes, and grabbed a plastic, pink shopping basket complete with glittery handle from a stack by the door.

Rachel immediately swiped it off her, "Obviously I get to be in charge of what goes in the basket."

Quinn nodded, and thought, _as long as I get to put those things in your ass I don't care._

It was going to be quite the challenge in horniness, this shopping trip. She could already feel the hot, sharp shift in her focus—now framed only around the delectable ache in her clitoris, as she watched Rachel peruse the shiny, alluring packages. Her little hands occasionally picked one up and read the description.

Her brow furrowed.

 _Adorable_ —Quinn's mouth fell open for a sharp exhale, as the pulse at her clit beat deeper; threatening to make her cum start to spill.

Dark eyes turned to her, "How come these are just little bullets and massagers?"

Quinn nodded towards a black curtain, "They keep all the _good_ stuff in there."

Rachel smirked, "So what are we waiting for?"

Quinn quirked a dry, derisive blonde brow, "Which one of us is Alice again?"

They showed their IDs to a smiling red-lipsticked employee at the entrance, and stepped through.

It went from a pink, fluffy motif to red and black walls with neon lighting, and provocative posters everywhere.

Rachel smiled wide at everything.

The first thing she did was pick a lubricant. There were about a billion of them, set on glass shelves tiered on seven separate rolling displays.

"Can I get an anal one _and_ a…regular one?"

Quinn frowned, and nodded dumbly, "Yeah—of _course_."

"It's not that my spit doesn't work, when I suck you off," she murmured, "It's just—it dries out really fast."

She seemed to blush, and Quinn put a warm hand on her lower back.

 _I'm a stupid fucking brute._

" _Fuck_ —I suck—I'm sorry. I wish you'd…said something."

Rachel nodded, "I know—that was before you told me not to put you on a pedestal. Back when I was afraid to…even talk to you for too long."

Quinn leaned over her, and her eyes shone with empathy. Rachel knew what she wanted to say (and why she probably couldn't).

She got on her tiptoes and kissed Quinn's cheek.

"It's not a big deal. I'd just—like to use it from now on."

Quinn nodded.

They moved down the aisles. At some things, not being able to contain their laughter. At others, they simultaneously blushed and checked each other's reactions with a quick glance. They reached a few common understandings.

Quinn felt her clit swell, blood pumping hot through it to sensitize the nerves. It clung, sticky, to the fabric of her boyshorts by now. She was _so_ distracted.

They stopped at what looked like a fetish wall—all sorts of ropes, cuffs, gags, blindfolds, and collars.

Rachel hummed, and turned to Quinn.

"Would you ever—be into that?" she licked her lips, "Because I know we both like…rough sex pretty exclusively. But this type of bdsm stuff seems a little contrived sometimes. Like there's too much preparation, you know? It doesn't turn me on very much, the idea. It's almost—" she laughed, " _Too_ theatrical. Like…I get enough of that in my everyday. Nothing makes me feel dirtier than…what feels like, real…genuine passion."

Quinn's eyes got a little wider. Her mouth fell open a bit too.

Then, she kept on.

"I mean _some_ of it seems interesting. Like—what would you do? If you had me all tied up?"

Quinn's eyes roved, slick, over her breasts, "Get a fair shot at _those_. Just suck on your nipples…and let you keep coming from it. Like I know you can."

Rachel put the bed-restraints package she was holding back on the wall, "Not ready for that psychosis trip…but thank you for being honest."

Quinn just nodded at her.

Black eyes spied the collars—and liked the idea right away. Some of them were very pretty too. One of them was pink with little black star-studs. It came with a leather leash attached.

Rachel picked it up.

"What about these?"

Quinn watched, wide-eyed, as she put it on. It fit, perfect, around her neck.

"Rachel—come on—don't start…wearing stuff."

Rachel smirked at Quinn's becoming flustered.

"How are we going to know—if we like it? Besides, those other people earlier were whipping each other, so I doubt there are even rules." She snapped it closed at the back of her neck, and tested a pull on the leash.

She bit her lip, and wanted Quinn to try it.

" _Pull_ on it."

Quinn sighed, "Rachel— _no_ —come on. If you like it, put it in the _basket_. Just—why are you laughing?"

"You sound like Buffalo Bill!" Rachel snorted, "Like— _put it in the basket._ "

Quinn gave a sharp tug on the leash then, "Shut the fuck up, you little brat!"

And people stared.

She rolled her eyes, and let the black pleather leash fall out of her hand.

"Just—let's get it."

Rachel's eyes shone.

"Yeah."

In the end, they stood at the counter with quite a few things. A glass butt plug (with a crystal accent glittering on the end of it), 2 different-size small-end silicone dongs, a few different types of lubricants, a silicone anal-training kit (in case the glass was uncomfortable) and the collar.

Quinn took out her wallet to pay, and Rachel did also.

"Can it be split?" She asked and Quinn shook her head at the clerk.

"No—don't do that—we're not—"

"It's only fair—it's _our_ sex life, Quinn."

"Please shut up and put your card away."

Quinn smiled politely.

The clerk smiled politely.

" _No_ —it's only fair. And just because our sex life works a certain way, it _doesn't mean_ you get to just—decide what you want to decide. I want to pay _equally_. I'm sick of you making all the decisions around here."

Quinn squinted her eyes, _Fuck is she talking about!?—She literally gets to decide_ everything _. Which is how I ended up_ here _—fucking a girl with some fruity open relationship that's also wholly co-dependent._

But she bit her lip, "Take your card _back_ , Rachel."

Rachel slammed her card on the table. The clerk spotted her ring and nodded at it, surreptitiously accepting both cards ( _because fuck these people),_ "You two are married?"

"Engaged," Rachel cut in, "I'm—"

It took her a second to realize what she did. She sucked on her bottom lip and nodded at the clerk's compliments.

3

Outside, dark had fallen—unexpectedly. Rachel looked up at the white clouds against the black sky.

Quinn didn't say anything about it. And she was trying to forget it.

She figured the girl was being quiet because Rachel got away with paying too.

She was walking a bit ahead of her, holding their bag. Acting cold.

It made Rachel feel like a little girl, not being able to reach her mother's dress—to tug for attention. _That_ alienated.

 _But._

Wasn't she not supposed to put Quinn up on a pedestal? Wasn't she supposed to get over—this amazement?

 _She's my friend, ignoring me—and I'm going to annoy her until she doesn't._

She skipped up, behind her, and grabbed her into a hug. She crossed both arms at Quinn's hard midsection.

"What's wrong, Quinn? Are you tense?"

She purred it into her ear.

"Are you tense because you need to fuck me in the ass?"

Quinn turned around and with a droll look kissed her hard on the mouth.

Rachel raked her nails down the slick skin at the nape of Quinn's neck, down the shell of her ear, the side of her face. Owning her. Scratching her for people to see—for people to see that her girl had _nails_.


	8. Mix'd Up Files 74 and Uh Oh

A/N: Thanks for the reviews and stuff! You guys rock. Enjoy this chapter. Happy hump day (go do it!).

0

 _This is the one where I stole her first time having anal. The perfect way to end the Volume._

 _I knew it was gonna be a good one from all the way back in the parking lot. She was all over me—her hands clutching my ass and squeezing it at will. It sent electric shocks right through my center._

 _My knees were weak._

 _She was being extra bad with me; right in front of all the exiting/entering pervs (and how they_ gawked _)._

 _I'm not stupid. I know she probably meant it to make up for that shit with the clerk and the ring (and how nice it was). Like I care._

 _You wear an engagement ring around then hang out with someone at a sex shop and split the sale of some very intimate items—it's easy to assume I'd be the fiancé._

 _Because I_ am _taking your spot—in a very despicable way. And I guess...you just seem not to care. You're_ that _new school. Couldn't have guessed it myself._

 _Me? I'd flip. I'd hit the roof._

 _You? You open up the relationship and allow for—the betrayal of you. I really don't get you. I don't get her either._

 _But I had her shaking in my arms in public, not caring. Opening up her mouth for more and more of my tongue. I know she can never get enough. I guess she must've already told you._

 _She must've not been willing to give me up._

 _Because you surely had to have asked her to._

 _So she must've not been willing to give me up._

 _And you must've not been willing to lose her, fully, to me._

 _I'll admit you've got that on me—the ring, the relationship, the boy-next-door jew-fro, the whole_ perfect _thing._

 _But I obviously fuck her better._

 _Why else couldn't she let go of me?_

 _You can try not to think about it but—I obviously fuck her better._

 _The way she likes. It's almost a shame that you'll never read this to learn how. And in this warped world you still get to keep her._

 _Oh well._

 _1_

 _I whispered she's a whore and dragged her back to the car._

 _It wasn't easy to get home, because I just wanted to_ be _there. And she wasn't making it easy either. She leant her head back and watched me, with her very dark eyes; hooded and everything._

 _I was uncomfortably wet and it was a little hard to drive so horny. My mind was shining with a single purpose—to be buried in her. To own her fucking ass—literally, finally._

 _On autopilot, we got to my place (I was just trying not to look at her; trying not to give in to the way my eyes were just always_ pulled _to her if she was in my space at all—she's a witch that way, I'm sure you know)._

 _The door to my room slammed shut, because of me—and my impatience. I threw our shopping bag down on one edge of my bed. Then, like a savage, I was on her mouth. I swallowed her moan and gave it back. She started sucking my lips; holding onto my shoulders with her pretty hands. It killed me—how she squeezed them, now with so much familiarity._

 _Sometimes she's so convincing, it really starts to feel like I'm hers. It's pretty much a mindfuck (just like her penchant for scratching me). I always catch the marks in the mirror later on—and then I can't forget her…not for a_ while _._

 _I grabbed her face; making her cheeks adorably squish._

" _This is the last time tonight I'm going to think you look innocent," I told her, and relished it (looked at her soft, sweet face—made to rook poor bastards with all that easily available doe-eyed wholesomeness). It's tragic. But I do, love that face._

 _That balance of sex and purity. And_ god _—that little mole on her cheek. I ran my thumb over it._

 _It made the violent kiss that followed so much better; her lips were like velvet between my teeth. She whined. She liked it. Her nails were up my neck—all the way through my scalp._

 _She opened her mouth to kiss me seriously, properly; her thorough tongue laving mine, then, little hands (pale pink fingernails, French manicure) started grabbing for my cunt outside my jeans._

 _I closed my eyes and smiled._

There's my filthy girl.

 _She cupped her whole palm on me and slid up and down hard. She's gotten so good at what she's doing. She had me hitching my breath, sweating, and dipping my head back to face the ceiling (like I do so often when she's here—when she's here and, with her mouth and hands, she's helping me believe in God again)._

 _When my hazy eyes slid back down to hers, she was smiling._

" _I knew all the songs on your playlist, you know."_

 _She said it with a proud, but shy little smirk. She makes herself lovelier just to fuck with me, I'm sure. I couldn't help but kiss her mouth again._

 _I didn't even have an answer for her. I just had to have her. I was so fucking hot for her…and just minutes into making out._

 _It's hard to believe how bad she wants me too. But much less so when she sucks my tongue the way she did; deep and desperate._

 _Her hands were at my waist, fumbling with my belt and zipper as we kissed._

 _I let myself fall back on my bed (a true moment of bliss) and she crawled up on top of me (another one). My jeans were halfway down my ass and my shirt, she was pulling at._

 _Her weight on me was perfect—soft, and considerate. And she was already extra-warm._

 _She kissed me all over my face, and on my lashes—then down my neck. My head fell back and she sucked on the tendons._

 _Then again—she was searching my mouth for fun._

 _I growled (my teeth around her bottom lip, pulling), and told her to get naked for me._

 _She raised herself up on my lap (how easy these commands are followed) and it was off with her dress—flung more or less towards my closet. Then her hands met at her back to undo her bra._

 _My eyes fell (for they are not polite at all). The panties: my favorite burgundy hipsters with little black bows where it meets her hips._

 _She bit her lip after a second of silence, and said, "Sorry I wore underwear, I—"_

" _Don't be—" I furrowed my brow, to try to show I was serious, "When I said that…_ thing _—it was just…another way to get off, I guess. I didn't mean it. It was just a game. I wouldn't have…ever really gotten mad about it or anything, Rachel—c'mon. Am I_ so _bad?"_

 _She decided on a smile, for an expression. And I immediately felt less shitty, on its receiving end._

 _She said, "You're bad, Quinn—but it's good," and started grinding herself on the front of my panties._

 _My moan was one of those like after a long-awaited piss._

" _Oh—_ fuck!"

 _I could feel her hot little pussy—the wet already seeping through her cotton panties._

 _She was having fun being a tease; not giving in to her slutty tendencies, but growled, frustrated, when the friction between us wasn't enough anymore—when she needed more of our heady closeness._

 _I had the nerve to giggle at her._

 _Her big, dark eyes flashed at me. Her nostrils even flared. She slid off me and put my legs up behind my head in one fluid motion._

 _I watched her with my eyes wide. Watched her palm rub up and down the wet spot on my panties._

 _I told her, "I love watching your pretty little hands play with me. You have the most feminine hands I've ever seen. And they're so soft."_

 _She sighed and fixed me with adoring eyes. Then—promptly, nearly_ ripped _my panties off me._

 _At the sight of me (naked, and openly showing off) she licked her full, red lips. She ran her middle finger up through my folds, and down, to swirl over my hole (gushing obviously at the attention). But she didn't dip in, as per usual—her finger slid down instead to my asshole; swirling just outside of it._

 _It tickled. It was almost frightening, the feeling. But once I relaxed…I definitely wasn't averse to it._

" _Rachel?"_

 _It was a high-pitched bitch whine._

" _Do I get to play like this too?" she asked, looking up at me, "Or just you?"_

 _I took in a deep breath to get ready—and nodded at her._

" _Go for it."_

 _She wasted no time—feeling fully herself, I guess, that night._

 _I swear I could feel it in my pussy, though her tongue was swirling right outside my ass (the tip managing somehow to penetrate, barely, but just enough to make my toes point out like a veteran ballerina)._

" _Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck."_

 _A hacksaw whisper-chant making its way out of my mouth. She grabbed for the outside of my thighs (which responded with a hard flex), and dug her pretty face in deeper. I was right—it has definitely ceased to be innocent, and entered yet another layer lower into total defilement. I helped by grabbing for the crown of her head and pushing her in harder. I got maybe another inch of her tongue into me._

 _Fuck it. It was_ her _idea to do this. And now she had my clit hot and twitching just from licking out my asshole._

 _The fever started in my temple. I was about to come from this._

 _I let go of her head to let her breathe, but she didn't want to._

 _She slid her tongue up the little twist in my labia then (maybe two seconds on my clitoris) and I was shaking, hard—coming right into her mouth._

" _Fuck Rachel—god—yes—good whore, lap it up."_

 _I could barely even watch her do it for long. I closed my eyes._

 _My recovery time was longer than usual—but the fury after was also much more powerful._

 _I picked her compact little body up just to be able to throw her on the bed, face down._

" _Come on, Rachel, ass up."_

 _She picked herself up on her hands and knees and got into position; with perfect form._

 _I reached in the bag, for the lube and the glass plug. It was a pain to get through the packaging._

 _I held it in my palm once I managed to rip it out. It was just a bit shorter than the length of it, and the width of two of my fingers. It felt cool, in my hand._

" _Spread open your holes for me."_

 _And I watched her hands clutch around her ass-cheeks; spread them apart. Her asshole was the warmest shade of red inside. It was so pink and small, I felt truly sadistic._

 _But god—I wanted it._

 _I squirted some of the anal lube out on my palm, and let it run down my fingers. I swirled it around that impossibly tight opening. It was like a fucking_ papercut _._

 _My middle finger, after a lot of pressing—a lot of applied pressure, finally managed to slide in. She moaned, and a little spasm pushed her back onto me._

 _I slid in and out—it was so hot, and so crazy-tight. There was much less flex to it. That was the main difference._

" _Does it—feel okay so far?"_

 _She gave me a quiet nod, "Do more."_

 _Two in, and more lube too._

 _I pushed in—and all the way out. It was a mini-gape, but she definitely did it._

 _It wasn't an exaggeration. It turned me on, just as much as I thought it would._

 _I licked my lips, and like a true fucking pervert, did it a few more times._

 _Then finally, I was trying with the plug. The cold surprised her a bit; she shivered. The little quiver of her spine while she kneeled in front of me was fucking precious. She didn't show much sign of panic, while I slid it in her._

 _It popped in, and stayed—stuck perfectly_ inside _her._

 _Fucking beautiful._

 _I grabbed handfuls of each ass-cheek, and slid my palms down—all the way to grip the outsides of her thighs. My fingers started thrusting in her wet, open pussy while her asshole was still wound around the glass. I watched the end of it glitter, and twinkle, while I fingered her._

 _I could feel the pressure of it inside her._

" _Do you like it, Rachel?"_

 _She nodded, barely able to get out her usual little mewling noises while she gripped the sheets._

 _2_

 _It was the best night of my life. Sorry goes out to the soft clichés._

 _I had the larger-size small-end dildo strapped onto my harness—lubed up thoroughly and ready to go._

 _Rachel still held herself open. Her pussy was dewy; sticky with how wet it was._

 _I gave it a lick because I couldn't resist it—and Rachel's asshole, a final, wet kiss._

" _You're—you're ready?"_

 _Rachel was mostly nodding throughout all of this, but I really needed to hear it. I was a little scared too._

" _Rachel?"_

" _Yes."_

 _She said, and it was all I needed._

 _I slid in her ass. And at the sight of myself, making it stretch and fit to conform me I had to take a sharp inhale to fight the dizzying head rush._

 _It was too much._

 _When I was flush against her smooth, plump ass; I hardly felt the sweat as it rolled from my hair into my eyes; and stung—all I felt was the sharp squeal as I grinded to a halt inside her. It was like the world stopped, and teetered between falling and holding on._

 _I saw a tremor travel up her spine, and waited for her to adjust before starting a slow rock forward._

 _It was hypnotizing; watching her back coil as she fucked back against me._

 _Our rhythm started to get faster—the sound of me slapping against the taut skin of her ass became sharper, louder._

 _She was hugging the pillows and whining into them, while I slammed into her asshole—pulling all the way out every few thrusts to watch it gape, for full seconds, the circumference of my cock. It was truly fucking fascinating._

 _I'll tell you something: the knowledge of what I was stretching in her, as I smashed myself, hard against her ass—that knowledge slid down my clit more delectably than the end of the strap-on. That knowledge was going to soon make me come._

 _She started to notice; turning back to look at me._

" _What're—what're you looking at like that?—Why do you keep pulling it out?"_

 _I flashed her my shitty grin. She pretty easy understood, and shot me a meaningful look backwards, before she started holding herself open, to emphasize it, when I did it._

"Fuck, _Rachel."_

 _She glanced back again, with one of those dark, esoteric expressions of hers, "You can—grab your phone."_

 _I stared, open-mouthed, for maybe five seconds, before leaping towards my night-stand._

 _Rachel wasn't dumb or anything. The rules were—never her face. I didn't actually even_ have _a single photo of Rachel's face. But everything else._

 _And now this too._

 _Her asshole, after I claimed it._

" _You—are the fucking best."_

 _3_

"So this is the bar we go to every Saturday."

Brittany had said, and smiled so her tongue stuck out a little; excited.

"Isn't it great?"

It was average. Really just _another bar_.

Quinn proceeded to sit in a corner all night, nurse a beer, and write the end of the Volume.

San and Brit were off playing pool with some of their school friends. Brittany's dance-schoolmates and some of the kids in Santana's business classes at NYU. Quinn glanced them quickly over and definitely forgot all their names in zero seconds (didn't actually even hear any).

She felt a poke on her shoulder and knew she wasn't getting away with it anymore.

"Why do you suck?" Santana asked her.

Quinn answered with a smirk.

Santana glared.

"At least three of those girls from Brit's school have remarked about your—level of cute. If you _care_."

And Quinn shrugged.

Santana only rolled her eyes, "Fine—carry on being bad at life."

Quinn just set her pen aside, and ran a hand through her hair. It got tiring—editing her own behavior all the time. She probably shouldn't have come but she'd been seeing Rachel every night the past week and needed to be—conveniently out of town. She needed a breather.

Santana had asked her, earlier, why she'd come at all, and Quinn had put her forehead against her palm.

"I'm scared, soon, I'm going to be pummeling into her—and have my face tucked into her little neck while she scratches all hell out of my back and I'm—going to…say it—"

She trailed off, and Santana had shot her almost a pitying look. Then more or less dropped the subject. There was the occasional slightly-cutting joke, and that was mostly it.

From Brit's side, there wasn't really any pressure to socialize at all (pretty much only the sporadic wave at whatever new body "Quinn—this is so-and-so").

She came back to the table, smiling, with some of the same people flanking her. Maybe two new others that Quinn didn't recognize at all. A redheaded girl with horn-rimmed glasses, and a floppy-haired boy with a lopsided smile. She gave them a half-second glance each, before slipping back into daydreams.

"Quinn—Quinn—this is Karen Thomas."

Brittany waved at the redhead.

"And this is another classmate of mine—Alec Katz."

Hazel glanced up from the mottled black-and-white composition book then; and really looked at him.

"Wait—what?"


	9. How Not to be a Shit Coward

A/N: Enjoy! : ) Happy Sunday!

 _0_

 _On her couch, sitting next to Rachel in her living room (all her roommates gone). Friday afternoon and something on TV._

 _She thought_ :

Could I be happy?

 _Rachel's head was just on her shoulder._

 _Just on her shoulder._

 _She was nodding off. They were thirty-seven minutes into a documentary about ayahuasca that Rachel had been the only one who wanted to watch it in the first place. Quinn's brow was in a perpetual peak of unadulterated boredom. It was torturous._

 _It was so, so bad._

 _But—Rachel's head was warm on her shoulder. And Quinn could feel how it all connected to her heart._

 _Rarely in her life had she been—happy. Right then she indisputably was._

" _Rachel—don't you dare fall asleep and leave me to face this barrage of awful you created on my own."_

 _Rachel looked up, sleepy-eyed but smirking slightly, "You'd just miss me. Admit it."_

 _Quinn made a dismissive noise between her lips, "Get over yourself—toots."_

 _Rachel gasped, "Don't you dare refer to me that way!"_

 _Quinn squinted._

" _I don't even think that's necessarily a negative—thing."_

 _Brown eyes were lucid again. She got up and Quinn's shoulder felt immediately icy in her absence. Rachel delighted in these little verbal games with her and Quinn knew. But, at the end of the day—she sort of liked sparring with her too._

 _Rachel pursed her pretty lips._

" _Well I didn't like your tone. And tone is—everything."_

" _No it's not," Quinn shook her head, "_ Intention _is everything."_

 _Rachel lifted her brows—amused and a little wound up._

" _Well, what was your intention then?"_

 _Quinn smirked._

" _Just to fuck with you."_

 _It was that smirk that made Rachel wish she could hate her. Wish she really had the will to deny Quinn._

 _She clearly doesn't._

 _That smirk was like a magnet to her own lips. She dove into the kiss—not wanting to come back from it._

 _Taking off Quinn's clothes was desperate, and rushed. Rachel was always pulling on her t-shirts like she were a fan at her rock show or something. It was just that— Quinn's skin was so good. It smelled and tasted so good. Like Rachel was opening up her windows to fresh flowery fields, singing and conjuring up birds Snow White-style. That's what it felt like to get Quinn naked. To get her naked and suck on her hot, pale neck, clutch her breast. Her fingers slid momentarily across an icy gold necklace Quinn liked to wear. It was all so familiar, and right._

 _Before she could even catch up to the moment—she was holding onto Quinn's shoulders while her pussy was stretched; the fucking fat, long thing at Quinn's waist splitting her wide open._

 _She loved seeing Quinn's pale naked skin shine with sweat—her tendons jump. It made her insides twitch around that soft silicone inside her._

 _She loved having Quinn tell her how she felt inside._

 _She loved when Quinn's voice reached that tone. When she talked dirty to her, one hand wrapped hard in her hair—whispering the fantasy into the shell of Rachel's ear._

 _And how she got off on being her favorite whore—Quinn's perfect whore._

 _She was so cute with her while being so destructive—she ran her sweet palm down Rachel's face, and kissed her temple; while, still, relentlessly thrusting her cock._

 _Rachel's legs were spread so her knees almost touched her shoulders. Quinn loved to make her bend (and was having a hell of a time watching her). Full-blown pupils in a sea of black had her looking like she was on MDMA— her little tongue halfway out._

 _Her eyes rolled back, and her thighs shook._

 _Quinn watched her and thought—_ Jesus, what a good whore.

 _Some people prayed before they ate. Similar concepts._

 _Rachel was lost in blissland; her head swimming in it. Her hands wrapped around Quinn; slick palms sliding down her shoulders and back up her biceps, in pure reverent adoration (over and over while she neared the edge of this fall)._

 _Her head fell all the way back on the couch's throw-pillows while she thought (her pussy starting to_ gush _):_

God I love her arms.

God I love her arms.

God, I _love_ her arms—it's my favorite thing about her. How thick they are; how hard they feel when I grab onto them.

 _She was lost. And, as she started to come—Quinn pulled away. Replacing her cock with the hot, wet pressure of her mouth and two fingers._

 _And Rachel was gone. Really, spiritually gone. Distantly, she could feel herself convulse—her midsection, and her legs most violently. It happened at the point where her eyes met Quinn's darling face (perfect nose mashed against Rachel's pelvic bone). Those kaleidoscope eyes; demanding she come undone. And as Rachel acquiesced, she lost control of many more things. Her eyes (the tears they shed, their raw, almost painful openness). Her cunt (long streams of cum erupting out of her—as gratifying as it was embarrassing). And her stupid, stupid mouth (most of all):_

" _Quinn!—Quinn!—God—I love you! I love you! I_ love _you!"_

 _Even as she grabbed on to her—and even as Quinn held her back; fiercely (in those thick arms that she loved)…Rachel was_ mortified.

 _She cried another octave deeper; more guttural. And Quinn squeezed her harder._

 _She closed her eyes against the fact that this was actually happening. That it had_ happened.

 _And when she finally could speak:_

" _You fucking asshole!"_

 _She swatted Quinn's left shoulder (and, conversely, rubbed her now pink face on the right)._

" _It was—" she sort of hiccupped, "That was intense enough without…without you going all super-saiyan on me at the end."_

 _Quinn— gliding her palms up the planes of Rachel's back, and cooing soothingly into her hair, basically nonsense, finally managed to think of something to say that she didn't (at least not immediately) hate, "Rachel—c'mon—I…_ had _to. You hadn't squirted for me in so long, I was really starting to miss it. Catching you off guard is… part of the process. You can't blame me_ _for that."_

 _She even tried a smile at the end (a gentle one)._

 _Rachel's face was hot—wet with sweat and streaking with tears, still._

" _Quinn—I—" it was hard to breathe (her nose felt stuffed up), "I'm sorry I said that—I—I didn't know what I was—"_

" _Hey—" Quinn pulled back, and looked at her (eyes so soft they seemed almost pastel-green…covered in some sweet mist that did the impossible, and made them more beautiful), "I know. I know what you meant."_

 _Her thumb rubbed circles at the lowest notch of Rachel's spine._

" _I know you meant—you love me fucking you."_

" _It's just_ embarrassing _—"_

 _Rachel kept going, probably not listening, and Quinn sighed; pulling away to sit back on the couch (pretty wet with Rachel in most places)._

" _Because it's not as if…we're even really friends. Despite my efforts. You…you find it so easy to keep me at arms' length—and I find it so difficult. It's pretty noticeable."_

 _Quinn tried hard not to roll her eyes. But as she was grinding her teeth, it was impossible to stop her jaw from flexing at Rachel—who noticed, and pretended not to._

" _You don't even let me follow you on_ instagram _,"_ _dark eyes flittered left, away from the glare of hazel,_ " _You just left my request there for days, and I know you're trying to avoid it."_

 _Quinn sighed._

"Rachel _,_ " _she licked her lips, tasting her, "Can you_ please _drop that one?"_

" _I just don't—" Brown locks (mussed with all the hair-pulling) shook along with her head, "I just don't get what—what you don't want me to_ see."

"Nothing!" _it was maybe the third time talking about this, and Quinn was finding it hard not to be fed-up, "I just—don't want to_ be _seen, Rachel."_

 _Brown eyes fluttered shut, and through her pursed, kissed-red lips, she let out a very small sigh. Very delicately._

 _The fear struck her heart the way it did from time to time. Because it was still hard to believe that Quinn was (at least) closer to being hers than being anybody else's._

" _By_ who _?"_

 _And Quinn couldn't help but raise her voice._

" _By your fucking fiancé!"_

 _In the quiet that followed, she barely managed to calm down, "I—don't—want to see_ him _. I don't want him to see me…and he probably doesn't want that either. It's just—you're_ right _. We're not_ friends _…the way you imagine us being. We can't_ be _like regular friends. We can't make this any more public than it is. Or get any more entangled. I just—don't get to be a part of your life that way. I'm the lover you're keeping on the side, Rachel. That's really who I am. And he knows my name. And I know his. So—I'm going to keep opting out of that. Every time. Every request. Is going to be denied. And I guess I have to risk you misinterpreting me some more. I never—do that to_ you _, but—whatever. This is the end of the discussion, by the way."_

 _Rachel glared._ _For whole minutes, silent, then-_

" _What happens after—we stop having sex?"_

 _Quinn scoffed. Eyes wide and sardonic as she shook her head._

" _I have no fucking idea."_

 _Then—_

" _We probably won't know each other…after maybe—generously a few months of very awkward texts. Attempts at—that friendship I just told you we never had in the first place."_

 _1_

That had been _last_ night.

 _Yup._

And now—

 _Fuck fuck fuck—_ fuck.

Karen smiled at them briefly, before melting into the large group of friends and becoming—also indistinguishable.

But _Alec—_ just stood there; looking hurt and hesitant.

"I'm sorry," he shook his head, "What was that?"

Quinn's mouth hung open. She squinted, like she did when she was nervous. She swallowed, and said:

"What was—what was what?"

"Your name," it was a mumble almost, "I couldn't really catch it."

Santana smirked, watching Quinn look helpless and wide-eyed for a second (hazel affixed only to the counter, her mostly-backwash beer).

She'd recognized Alec's name straight away, also. From _Quinn's_ mentioning it amongst her rants about Rachel ( _also_ , she'd read it once or twice, perusing the mix'd up files while visiting Quinn's apartment). _Brittany_ had never brought him up before that night. It must've been his first time at the bar (from the looks of him, she guessed, _any_ bar).

"It's Wind," she finally chimed in, to save her best friend from melting into the wall, "Wind Sanchez. And I'm Santana Lopez, Brit's girlfriend."

"Oh," he nodded, face softening up (a bare bit more relieved than a second ago), "Sorry I—I've been having some trouble hearing things lately."

Quinn nodded dumbly, looking away almost immediately. She really didn't want to look at him. He looked like—he was having trouble with a lot of things.

Santana answered him, " _Oh_ , Brit has a cold so—her inflection's all off. That's probably it. Well—let's put these fake IDs to work gals—Brit, Quinn, _follow_. We'll buy some pitchers for the table. Alec—a preference?"

"Oh I—" Alec pointed at his hand (a black x sharpied across it), "I don't think they let me drink with this."

"They don't," Santana nodded, "But they _do_ —if they don't see you. What do you like?"

"Um," he shrugged, "A blue moon?"

Quinn sighed, and silently stood up. On heavy legs, she walked to the bar.

When she reached it—she leaned against it.

2

" _Wind Sanchez?"_

"What's better?" Santana quirked a brow, " _Your_ fat load of nothing?"

Quinn shook her head (eyes aimed at her hands, flexing against the counter—ghostly white), "I'm going to need a pitcher for myself."

Brittany squinted her eyes at them, "So _what's_ happening?"

Santana pointed an index finger at Alec's mousy-brown floppy-fro covered head, "Do you know who that is?"

Brittany nodded, "Alec—Katz. He's in my dance classes. But we never partner together because he's hella short."

San shook her head, smirking, "That's motherfucking Rachel _Berry's_ fiancé."

Brittany said, "Gasp, that's Quinn's girlfriend."

"Gasp, yes it is."

Quinn quirked a brow at them both, " _Gasp_ —no she isn't."

"Holy cow," Brittany gaped, "Alec's-fiancé Rachel is…Quinn's-GF Rachel."

Quinn sighed. She turned, and looked at him. His dark-green eyes were cast down, really aimed at his phone (though he smiled, politely at everyone—and his laugh was at most just a second late). He kept pressing the home button—just to check—just to make sure it…wasn't _failing_ to alert him of what just wasn't there.

In her back pocket, Quinn's phone vibrated again. Third time that night.

The first had been: _Quinn._

The second (which had come almost three hours later, astoundingly): _Okay._ _I know I'm wrong. And I'm sorry. I_ _shouldn't have asked for so much. And I won't_ _anymore. So let's keep going, the way we were. And I won't be a brat._

That one had been hard not to reply to.

She reached for it a third time now, swiping swiftly to unlock it, and read:

 _Please text me back : (._

She typed (glancing back up at Alec briefly): _Text your man._

She slid her phone back in her pocket, looking from San to Brit as they finally roped a bartender and placed their order. She ran a hand down her face, feeling nauseous.

A glance back at Alec, smiling at his phone.

 _It feels so shit to be a good Samaritan._

Then, her deadpan eyes focused on the mottled black and white static print of her— _journal_ —right behind him. Pretty much right at his elbow from where he sat.

" _Fuck,_ " she muttered.

San quirked a brow at her, watching her bite at her thumbnail, " _What_?"

"My _journal_."

"Oh _please_ ," Santana practically spat a sigh, "People don't go _around_ snooping into stranger's journals at _bars_. In the first place—any asshole scribbling shit in the corner of some dimly lit indie _pool hall_ in the heart of New York city… _as she_ ignores her friends is…a fucking douche-bag. And _nobody_ wants to read a douche's memoir."

She smirked then, her Grinch-smile, and continued, " _However,_ there has to be no worse way to find out your girl's being _redonkulously_ fucked by someone else…than like, reading it in her lover's _diary._ That you found, coincidentally. On a romp out to forget her. _Jeez._ "

Quinn waited a beat. And had nothing to say, except—

"—It's not a diary."

Brittany frowned, "Well he _knows,_ right? You said Quinn said Rachel told him."

"He hasn't _really_ found out," Santana murmured (almost waxing intellectual), and Quinn nodded, adding:

"There's no way anything _human_ in him knows what's going on. He might— _factually_ —know it. But—I just keep thinking— _god_ —if it were _me_ …I'd—I'd _be_ there. There's no way I _wouldn't_ bethere. Looking her in the eyes. Asking her to tell me— _again_ —what the _fuck_ she was doing. Not here…moping around with these…" she gestured at Brittany's friends, "Weird, lanky people."

" _Hey_."

Quinn shrugged at her. Then, looked as if she'd almost just regained her senses.

"Guys—I have to go home. Like— _fuck this,_ right?"

Santana nodded; "Let's drop these off at the table and we'll walk you to the station."

3

Santana leafed through the pages, whistling sharply, " _Yeah_ —if he read this he'd be toast. His heart…his manhood…his patience with his cheating-ass, eating-ass little hoe that let you take the booty with no hesitance."

" _Hey_ ," Quinn didn't know why, but it was automatic.

" _Quinn_ ," Brittany pouted, "How come _I_ never get to read it?"

"You lose everything you touch. You have a shit Midas-touch. Everything you touch turns to _bitch, where_?"

" _Hey_ —" the response, for Santana, was automatic. So was the dark death-glare she shot right at Quinn.

Brittany skipped up between them.

" _Quinn_!—Please, please, please."

"No, no, no."

"Why _not_?"

"The aforementioned."

"But—I'll be so careful."

Quinn sighed. _No way, man._

"I just can't take the chance that you lose it and he finds it. Or that you give him some notes or something, for a class—and then give him the journal by mistake. Or something."

Santana scoffed, "Paranoid little pussy."

"Quinn," Brittany told her, "I don't—have any notes…so never worry about that. But—I promise… I'll be super-careful. Your book is one of the few books I've ever wanted to read really, _really_ bad. And I think it's one of San's favorite books. So it's something we can do as an adorable couple."

Santana nodded, "I quote it constantly."

Quinn sighed, again.

 _I can't even believe me._

"Okay—don't lose it."

Brittany nodded, swiftly, grabbing it from Santana, and smiling giddily at Quinn, "I'll try really hard not to lose it."

"No!" Quinn shook her head, fiercely, with a hard and slightly crazy grin fixed on her lips, "No you fucking won't. There _is_ no try, there is only _do—do not lose it. Do not lose it. Do_ not _lose it."_

Brittany, wide-eyed, nodded, "Right. There is only do not—lose it."

"Dude don't even _pause_ before the two."

Santana rolled her eyes at them, then licked her lips. This was sort of the silence she'd been waiting for.

"Hey Quinn."

The girl, dazedly, looked at her. She was starting to feel like it was late. She was starting to feel her emotions press against the barrier.

"Yeah, San?"

"So did you— _block_ Camila or—? You're just ignoring the texts…her calls?"

" _Man,_ " Quinn closed her eyes and wiped at them, hard, with her palms. She felt herself lose eyelashes, "Don't—I can't—I _can't_ talk about this now."

Brittany looked down. She pressed the book to her chest.

Santana didn't seem fussed, "Well it's _time_ to. You had a damn good amount of time to mope. Shit—you _moved on._ She's my cousin. I told you—not to fuck her. Back in sophomore year. Then _again_ , not to fall for her, back in _junior_ year. And you had all of senior year to get over it. So act your fucking age. She's coming to visit. She wants to see you. After _everything_? You're gonna keep— _bailing_?"

Quinn scoffed (harder, more ironically, than she had all night), "Real _funny,_ the words you use."

"Dude—she went to _college_. Stop _crying_."

" _Dude,_ " Quinn stopped, turned sharply towards her in the middle of the street.

Brittany shrieked at the suddenness of the action, and Santana took two steps forward at her so she and Quinn stood uncomfortably close, in the moonlit middle of the street.

They stared each other down, and Brittany watched them, upset.

Quinn finally dropped her shoulders, after a few, grave breaths onto each other's mouths—after the past two nights, she was easy, _beat_.

"It's none of your business, is all I'm saying."

Santana shook her head, "We're all family. She was _there_ for you. Not saying she was perfect but—come _on_. It's history now. She wants to see you. I want us—all to hang, like before. You don't just throw people out of your life because things are…complicated—you fucking—little— _shit coward_. _Surprise_ me, for once."

Quinn eyed her, with bright, golden eyes (the way they looked, broken sometimes).

She took a breath. She still didn't cry.

But she nodded.

. . .

A/N: Next chapter delves pretty deeply into Quinn's past (it's pretty different in this fic obviously, and her backstory, as you'll find out, has been way more important than Rachel's this whole time…muahaha?).

Whole buttload of plot is coming your way.

PS This is a Faberry fic, yes—it is.

That's as much of the plot as I will spoil for you. Only because—please listen—I don't want to be asked that question. The answer is three sentences up—go _there_.

I love you. I love your comments. Thanks for reading. Thanks for not being a dick.


	10. Camila Part 1

a/n: see end of chapter.

0

Sitting in the train, Quinn watched lights blur across the window. She leaned her head against it and felt all the machinery, vibrating.

She was sailing home.

She closed her eyes and tried not to think.

Tried, like it ever worked (and only gave herself a heavy, echoing headache).

She sighed and cursed Santana, herself, then everyone else.

She rearranged herself in her seat, and looked up. An attempt to steady her will, her heart, her head.

 _Okay._

Here we go.

How did it start again?

1

 _The scent of marigolds._

 _Quinn was walking up the path to Santana's house, past her mother's garden. The afternoon had turned a pale grey that day. Thin droplets fell steadily. It disguised, a bit, her crying. She picked her pace up; wanting badly to reach that large, white and pristine double-door to their house. Smell their kitchen and probably Santana's botanica incense burning (that usual Lopez-house smell that felt more like home than anything else now, after so many afternoons)._

 _Of course, she slipped on the wet grass (wearing those stupid little white sneakers)—and landed across a hard forearm._

 _She'd anticipated landing on all the green blades, almost wanted to._

" _Careful!" It was a pleasant voice, but definitely a stranger's. Quinn's body tensed up. A girl half-lifted her back on her feet; gently. Quinn was quick to pull her hand off the girl's shoulder, once she felt it move under her palm. When she felt steady on the ground again, and looked up, she immediately first focused on the white tanktop the girl wore and how well she filled it out; how nice it was that it was slightly sweaty._

 _She closed her eyes, her face hot._

Pervert _._ How I _hate_ you.

 _She mumbled, "Sorry," half-surprised she had the ability to form words._

 _The reply floated to her, in a sweet voice with some hard, lovely quality: "No worries—you okay?"_

 _Quinn nodded; feeling like the world was turning slower._

This _girl—had a pretty face. She had this little mole on her chin that Quinn (easy) fell in love with._

" _Who are you?"_

 _Quinn bit her lip._ Why do I always come off rude and abrasive? Am I rude?—And abrasive?

" _I'm Camila," A hand was extended, that Quinn took and tried not to keep too long._

 _She kept on, in that sweet and sort of raspy little voice, "Santana's cousin—one of them. I'm doing some yard work for my uncle, as a favor. And because he's giving me sixty dollars."_

 _Dark, brown eyes raked her over, "You're Quinn Fabray right? San's little friend?" She smirked, and Quinn stood there; mouth still a little open._

 _She hoped her eyes didn't look too red. Or her face too distraught. She hoped her swallowing didn't appear as heavy as it felt in her throat._

 _She hoped she wasn't obvious._

Nothing worse than being vulnerable in front of a stranger.

 _She maybe sort of nodded (but couldn't remember feeling it). Her ability to function even somewhat normally was really very shot._

 _She licked her lips and swallowed._

" _Is—Is Santana home? I really have to see her."_

 _Camila shook her head, frowning a bit, "She went off to Brittany's like thirty minutes ago, if you want to check there."_

 _Quinn sighed. Really, her whole body heaved a bit. She somehow managed an ironic smirk and was halfway proud of it._

" _What's the point of that?—They're not gonna open the door."_

 _Camila giggled, knowingly, then fixed her with a look (biting her lip), "Does San owe you_ money _or…has she killed your father? Should she prepare to die?—Just…why the urgency to see her? You look…very urgent," She pursed her plump lips, "I know it's probably rude that I ask but—I'm nosy and actually pretty rude."_

 _Quinn watched her with a quirked brow. Something about the girl's energy kept her feet on the ground. And right then that was a godsend._

 _There were many beats before she made up an answer she liked at all—"I just did something…that she said I wouldn't. And I wanted her to know it's…_ done _."_

 _The sentence ended almost with a growl._

 _Camila squinted, "…Is it as sinister a plot as it sounds?"_

 _Quinn looked at her, mouth a pale-pink flatline, "I had sex with Puckerman."_

 _Camila's eyes grew soft and empathetic and Quinn felt as if she could give up her personal space to her, no hesitance. In fact, she felt her body sway forward a little. A gravitational pull. She wished she wasn't wearing her Cheerios uniform. It seemed suddenly way too cold to be out in it._

 _Camila squinted at her, "You did it because San_ bet _you to?"_

 _And Quinn didn't have an answer for her. The truth was (in all honesty)— complicated._

 _In the end, she shook her head, "It wasn't a bet. She just said—the best way to learn is by_ doing _. I guess—in the end, I really did it just because I decided to. And San said—she thought I wouldn't go through with it. She thought I'd chicken out. And that was when I finally told him I'd go over after school. I mean, he'd been trying since we met—like, in freshman year. And I never thought I would. But—I really did it."_

 _She couldn't stop her shoulders from falling. Or the tears from rolling down, hot. Her brows drew together, hard—and she was scared she looked ugly to this new and pretty girl._

 _Her brain beat against her skull._

 _When Camila pulled her into a hug, she didn't break out of it._

 _She rested her forehead in the soft crook of her neck, and let herself be held._

 _2_

 _She was in the passenger seat of Camila's faded red, older-model Chevy truck, being driven to whatever pharmacy they spotted first_

 _Back in the garden, Camila had said, "I've heard how he operates. So—I have to ask…do you or don't you want to risk having_ Puckerman's _baby?"_

 _And Quinn's eyes had gaped._

 _Now here they were. On their way. With Quinn's heart fluttering in her chest; making her throat close up._

 _She was pretty thankful, but wasn't sure how to be_ grateful _. Fabrays never needed anything from anyone—so it was always very strange for her, to be in these situations (wherein someone was being so ingenuously kind). She passed a hand through her hair, and stayed pretty quiet in her seat._

What're the odds they run out of that pill today and I spend the rest of my life being Puck's _baby-mama?_ Oh, please God, _no_.

 _She kept bunching the ends of her skirt into knots. All the old roads she'd seen a thousand times suddenly merited her full attention._

 _Then—Camila's sweet and raspy voice:_

" _Why do you guys keep fucking that kid to not be gay? God—it's so stupid."_

 _Quinn had been more or less settled fully into her mortification—but found, there was a level that spiraled down deeper than even where she'd been. Her face started flashing, hot and red. The alarms in her were all going off._

" _Wh—wh—did—" She swallowed, finding her throat desert-dry, "Did San s-say—"_

" _She didn't tell me anything," Camila interrupted, shaking her head promptly. "She's never talked much about you, to me, other than—your name and that you're friends. And I didn't ask…even though I've always been—you know, curious about you. I didn't want to seem…" she drifted, and Quinn spared her a glance then, wide-eyed and waiting, "_ Anyway _—you're obvious. Like, you…_ stare _," Camila finished, softly._

 _Quinn stared hard, out the window, at the street zooming by in one long panoramic whirl—and she_ thought _about it. For a second, she did. She thought about pummeling out into the world below— for a fun and fast death._

 _Because fuck this. Fuck this day, man._

 _She wished she lived in a cloud, away from anybody that ever knew her name and disposition._

" _I'm…," she licked her lips, eyes a bit incredulous, "I'm really s—"_

" _Please, don't apologize," Camila looked at her (and Quinn could feel the bottomless brown eyes on her jaw), "I like that you looked at me. Feel free."_

 _Quinn shook her head. Mostly at herself—all the awful thoughts in her head and how for the first time that day her clit beat hard in arousal; grew hot and began pulsing uncomfortably._

 _She wished she'd felt it before. When his sharp cologne, and his breath, and his wrong-body were all on top of her—turning her stomach. She really did wish she could like—maybe not Puck, but definitely Finn. Or any variation of that type of guy._

 _Things would be fine if she could just be what she was expected to be. It just seemed impossible to stop herself from_ being _herself._

" _I can't," she finally croaked out, and was pretty surprised to have made a sound at all. She glanced at Camila, and saw that the girl now had little frown marks between her brows._

" _Can't what?"_

 _Quinn pressed her eyelids into her palms, "I can't be gay."_

 _She hadn't sounded this way since she was six. Of course, the collapse had to happen_ now _, concurrently—first day meeting a strange, stunning girl, like magic, in her best friend's garden, and on her_ worst _day. Her actual worst day of all (counting a lot of awful things)._

Nothing. _Nothing un-dramatic ever occurred to her. It always had to be just this way._

 _Camila's warm hand cupped the back of her neck—blunt, black nails raked up into her ponytail, and Quinn felt herself begin to calm down._

 _When she spoke her voice hit Quinn like cool water on a parched tongue. She said, "I don't really think it's up to you like that."_

 _Quinn tried to laugh (bitterly) but barely managed to sigh, "My parents…"_

 _She watched Camila, with one hand (her right now untangling itself smoothly out of Quinn's hair), swing the truck easy into a spot,_ " _I mean—it's not so bad once you just fucking_ do _it. I keep telling San—fuck it, I survived,_ you'll _survive. I have…the strictest dad ever. He's super old school and..."_ traditional" _I guess, is the way people like to say it. But even, in time—that fucker turned around too. He'd say things like…at least I don't ever have to worry about a_ boy _…at least you won't get pregnant…at least it makes you good at_ soccer _—"_

" _It does?"_

" _No—" Camila squinted at her, smiling, "—Being a lesbian doesn't make you good at soccer," she cocked her head, "Did you actually think… that?"_

 _Quinn hummed no, but with a sheepish smile._

" _Anyway—after all that…which, yeah, was a long time—he'd, you know…start to ask stuff. In a gentler way. At first, just generally…like about how being gay 'worked'—and okay, that was an incredibly awkward period admittedly. But then…he just wanted to know if I had a girlfriend. And he wanted to make sure I brought her over if I did and…he was saying all the regular—he was just being dad again you know? Same, overprotective, lame…my_ dad _. And I know it's not the same for everyone, and maybe it's too optimistic a thought but… I think for most people…it turns out okay. Your family figures out you're still you, and you figure out they're still them."_

 _Quinn felt herself start to breathe evenly again. She leaned her head into Camila's space without meaning to. The girl exuded a warmth and it smelled like Spring._

 _To her heart—(still, to this day), to her stupid and too-soft heart, it was her_ first _kiss._

 _Soft, plump lips that smiled into it._

 _3_

 _San didn't take it well because she wasn't ever_ going _to._

 _It didn't take very long into their make-out sessions for Quinn to find herself backed into her own locker by her best-frenemy, the girl's lip curling and her gaze black._

 _She was smiling, which to Quinn was definitely the scariest part._

" _Quinn, I'm really happy—that you're in love and whatever."_

 _Quinn gaped, "Nobody has ever mentioned any of that. In the like,_ month _that I've known her…neither of us has come slightly_ close _to saying even…anything even_ remotely— _"_

 _It wasn't like she'd heard her._

 _She kept on, talking almost through her teeth, "But—that's my_ fucking _cousin. Just so we're clear. That's my—_ we-grew-up-together _cousin. That's_ Camila _, all right? Our little heads were baptized together. So. You better play your cards right. You better remember to tread lightly if you're going to go around fucking my_ family _. We're not a very understanding people. And…you better not shit your pants when you get this same speech from my uncle. In Spanish."_

 _Quinn blinked._

" _How am I even…gonna know what he's saying?"_

 _She snapped her neck back, and her ponytail bounced, perfect._

" _Oh you'll_ know _what he's saying."_

 _4_

 _Quinn hadn't. When it finally happened. When he caught on to her (not that he hadn't been suspicious of her from the start)._

 _It would almost have been nice— if he didn't know about his daughter. But knowing about her, he knew about Quinn too. And looked at her harshly, from beneath his very dark (somehow frightening) eyebrows._

" _Don't tell me he_ scares _you?" Camila had laughed, and had still wanted to kiss (even though the door was wide the fuck open, according to his policy)._

" _Of_ course _he scares me," Quinn had hissed, and turned her mouth away._

 _He never ever liked her._

 _Camila just shrugged about it._

 _Quinn one day had sat on her lawn outside (on a hot dreamy day) and watched Camila practice kicking that ball around (eyes on her bare thighs)._

 _Her dad was pretty nearby, Quinn noticed. He was building a shed._

 _Quinn looked at him twice and finally jogged up to Cam._

" _Hey," she said, "Ask him if he wants my help."_

 _Camila had frowned, and just shook her head, "He's not going to want it."_

 _Quinn eyed the ground; feeling like the struggling snail, its feelers curling in, wriggling to nowhere, "What does he—what does he ever_ say _about me? I hear him talk about me all the time—and I don't—what's—what is it? What's his deal? What does he have against me?"_

 _Camila did her usual—shrug—that Quinn loved and hated (the way that she had never_ asked _for anything). It was very rare, but at some points Quinn had wanted her to_ ask— _to demand, to force her to act. But mostly, she was relieved._

 _To be clear—Finn was her boyfriend. They were the perfect couple. They held hands down the hall and everyone was envious._

 _Camila was officially her math tutor. A junior from another school. An exceptional soccer player. Santana Lopez's cousin. Not even—a_ friend _of hers_.

 _Quinn was very happy with these results. She had smiling golden parents. She had a great GPA. She had a football-hero boyfriend. And she had Camila—every Saturday afternoon, when their schedules meshed perfect, and they got to roll around on a bed, against each other._

 _Only sometimes—it was like this. Camila's plump lips pouted, and when it happened, Quinn always felt her world end._

" _Papi thinks that you—that you're—that you're just…never going to come out. And that I'm…wasting my time with you."_

 _Quinn felt her heart grind to a halt, and plummet to her stomach._

 _Why it mattered—his opinion—that query was very much shadowed by the fact…that it felt just as bad as her own father's disappointment._

" _Whatever."_

 _Quinn left. And felt them both watch her._

 _5_

 _Quinn's focal point grew smaller, more honed-in and specific, as the year went on._

 _She very much wanted to have sex with her. The thought was never not in her head. She had to see Camila almost every night now—she ditched Finn regularly, never ate dinner anymore (rushing straight from practice to Camila's house—where she made a rude bee-line to her room, after exchanging death-glares with her father; home from work and settled on the couch, always with some fucking Spanish romance novel that always made Quinn want to laugh—but she held it_

 _Sometimes Camila's mom was in her bed with her—as if waiting for Quinn._

 _She'd smirk at her (mouth exact model for Camila's, apparently), and say, "Oh look—it's your rude girlfriend."_

 _Quinn grinned nervously, "I'm sorry."_

" _Why don't you ever say hi, Quinn?"_

" _Hi," Quinn swallowed, before proceeding to explain herself, "I'm sorry. I'm just so afraid of him. He's…he's so scary."_

" _Oh yeah?" Camila's mom cocked a brow, "Good. That's really good to hear. Now—I'm going to go get you girls food. I'll be back in five minutes. So Quinn—keep your hands off my daughter for five minutes."_

 _She grinned as she walked past her, and Quinn stood in place, mortified. Cam's family was probably not good for her health._

 _She fell next to the girl on the bed, burying her head in the sweet smell of her pillows._

 _Cam nudged her with her knee, "Hey—guess what?"_

 _Quinn only opened one eye (not really ready to fully face_ anything _yet)._

" _What?"_

" _Mami was talking to me and—" she let the word hang, with a teasing, very girlish grin, "We…get to close the door from now on."_

" _What!?" Quinn stood up, mouth hanging open—maybe already drooling, "How? When?"_

" _Look at you, junior detective," Camila's red lips split, and Quinn could swear she already felt them on her, "My parents talked about it—Mami brought it up of course, on my part—and they reached an agreement."_

" _An agreement that what?" Quinn asked._

" _That he loses."_

" _Yes!"_

 _Victory washed over Quinn, sweeter even than national competition-level wins. Her palms grew warm and tingled; anticipating playing_ this _game. It seemed way more interesting than flips and routines._

" _But Quinn," Camila looked down, and then demurely at her, "We can't make it obvious. And you have to—start eating dinner with us. They're trusting you so—you have to give them reasons to."_

 _Quinn nodded vigorously._

 _6_

 _She was living only for these heady afternoons. Sixteen-year-old her kissed with force, and tongue._

 _She loved feeling Camila melt under her fingertips._

 _She had a full year of burying her face in dark, rose-scented hair, and exploring her body. A year in which, one thing in her life was consistently perfect. She held it with so much care. Camila didn't ask for much but when she did Quinn never failed to oblige her._

 _Now, Quinn was seventeen. She was dealing with SATs, a moody and suspicious boyfriend, pushy parents, Sue Sylvester, and this huge headache of a school._

 _She'd for a while, been waiting for Camila to join the list. To_ ask _. To give her an ultimatum. Quinn made up her mind, already, to do it for her when she asked. Even though the risk here was ever having any semblance of a relationship with her parents. Her father's face would probably fall forever and never pick up again at the sight of her._

 _But for Camila—it would be worth it._

 _She felt it come—a change in the air when she entered her room one day—_

 _7_

Quinn felt the train screech to a halt. And her head too.

She sighed.

She should've drank more, at the bar.

She passed a hand through her hair— _how stupid I am, to still be thinking about this…_

 _It's even simple. I just never wanted it to be._

 _She played me—just as well as she fucking_ plays.

She exited with a crowd of a similar temperament (thank god), all looking mournfully at the ground, or sky, or big brick buildings.

Now.

Where to head to?

 _Home alone, or to you?_

…

a/n: This chapter, for some reason, has been super hard to get through. : / I mean—at first, I was too busy to write, but then I was pretty uninspired too. And it all somehow turned into this big lapse. Sorry! I think I'm going to divide the smut over the angst before I multiply it. So the next chapter will be faberry smut and then we'll go back to the plot. Thanks to those of you that still read this!


	11. Mix'd Up Files Volume II c 1

.

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 _Volume II, chapter one._

 _I first stopped by my apartment—an attempt to convince myself not to go._

Because _honestly,_ Quinn ( _I told myself, sounding almost like Rachel in my own fucking head)_ what you need is to rest, black your brain out, and forget about _everyone._

Ourselves included.

 _I walked around my room and rationalized like that; running my hand through my hair at intervals and sighing too much_

 _That bottomless thought-spiral went along like this (winding like a kid's choo-choo train):_ It's super late anyway. And she probably doesn't want to see me after I dared to ignore her texts all night—after I cut her off so rudely and brought up Alec to her just to spite everybody (especially me).

( _Then Alec's stupid smiling face floated past my head and my stomach knotted up)._

 _(And then Camila's memory came back, sudden and painfully potent—all her dark, dark hair and her bright red smile)._

 _And so all the blood drained right out of me._

 _I lied in my bed with an arm around my own waist and made plans just to feel sad all night. I had it over me just like my warm, grey quilt._

 _Well—then she texted me._

 _My phone was next to me, almost up against the back of my left hand. I felt it buzz and quickly grabbed it. Her name flashed at me—her message scrolling across the top of my screen. She was asking if I made it home okay. My lips curled up; smirking despite me. My blood was hot and pulsing in me again. I remembered that Alec wasn't my problem. That Camila was a closed book—and I know the ending well enough by now to be over it._

 _Rachel's little text was the Jesus to my Lazarus. Funny._

 _I licked my lips and typed very fast. I asked if I could go over._

 _It took a second (and I could guess she was having some sort of reaction about it, because I had never wanted to go over to_ hers _before—I don't like getting so involved, or settled into a space that isn't mine)._

 _But fuck it. I wasn't going to make her walk at this time, or even take an uber._

 _I mean,_ I'm _the one with a new car in her driveway. And_ Rachel's _car had a shit radiator, and at this point could barely make it a few blocks without overheating—in fucking_ winter _._

 _She texted back (four entire minutes after having read my text): "Yes, Quinn. You can come over."_

 _It seemed heavily edited. Whatever._

 _I told her I was on my way._

 _1_

 _I wore my harness under my joggers and my toy was tucked inside it, ready to go._

 _Good thing I didn't have to make any stops on the way there— walking around with a giant boner tenting my pants was not conducive to staying out of trouble at 4 in the morning. New Haven or not._

 _Our lube, I tucked into my pea coat's pocket. I didn't want to bring a bag or anything. I mean I_ thought _about it—thought about putting some clothes and make-up and perfume into my rucksack so I'd be_ prepared _if I were to pass out there, and thus unintentionally stay the night at Rachel's._

 _But god, that seemed so—_ girlfriend. _It almost gave me a panic attack. I dropped the thought straight-away, and kept it moving._

Why plan anything? _I thought, feeling pretty intelligent and mature._

I'm going to just—show up, fuck, and...whatever, we'll see. But to show up with a…bag of... _things—_ WHOA.

 _I think I even scoffed at myself, walking to the door._

 _I made a face at myself at the hallway mirror (I looked a sight—hair full of flyaways and dressed awkwardly with honestly zero make-up) but I didn't break my gait just to fix my face. My face was going to spend most of the rest of the night drowning in Rachel Berry's pussy anyway._

 _2_

 _She answered the door with her full-on dimply grin; trying to contain it by biting her lip._

 _I smiled back, and tucked some of her hair behind her ear._

 _We just stood and_ watched _each other, standing right in her doorway. My stupid, obvious stare made her maybe self-conscious, because she ducked her head—broke the gaze first. She slipped her hands in her back pockets (wearing tiny-tiny denim shorts) and I wished they were my hands._

 _The oversized sweater she wore made her look so warm—I nearly reached down to hug her the way I'd never gotten a chance to before but always daydreamed about._

 _Well, I just grabbed for her ass (meeting my impulses halfway)—leaned in, and started kissing her in this manner she must be used to by now. She groaned, and good thing she has her own apartment (and very loving parents, apparently, who likely pay way too much in rent for their baby's privacy)._

 _I took a few steps forward, our lips bending against each other's, now so used to it. With a grunt that may have been audible, I lifted her up and carried her along—back-kicking the door closed with a resounding deep and hollow thud._

 _I tried not to pay attention to the way her legs wrapped around my body as we kissed, with tongues and teeth. The feeling made my body warm. Everything in me was already buzzing—heady and alive._

 _I couldn't honestly tell you shit about her décor (and I was there for_ hours). _Whatever—you've probably been there._

 _I remember her bed. It felt expensively soft, when we fell into it._

 _She started testing herself against my grip as we kissed, with a breathless smile flexed against my mouth. I had her wrists locked above her head, one in each of my hands. When she bucked up, I rolled my hips down. We humped like that for a while, with her whining into my mouth at ever shorter intervals._

 _My tongue slid over hers before feeling around her mouth. She tasted like her peppermint toothpaste (same as whenever she came over). And suddenly too, I could smell her shampoo. Fucking strawberry fields forever. I breathed it in and wished time would still and just replay the moment, ad infinitum. I could be happy._

 _When we pulled apart, she said, "So you definitely have a dick in your pants..."_

 _And I laughed, whatever tension in me broken. She could be so dorky and cute._

 _I rutted more firmly into her (cheesy smile in place), and kept kissing, going "Mmm hmm."_

 _The big sweater (which_ was _warm against me), I tugged up and off of her. Under that she'd been wearing a soft, cottony bralette of an adorable pink pattern, but I tugged that off too._

 _Her breasts and me I feel are all best friends now. I swear they like me too. I kissed them deep and adoringly, and her little nipples had already been hard for me._

 _She gasped and whined some more, sounding like she might cry. I sucked a little more gently—she's such a baby; so sensitive about her fucking nipples. I let the one I was sucking on pop out of my mouth. I guess I felt like taking it easy on her. Magnanimous Quinn Fabray—_ that's _what history will say about me. In regards to that night anyway._

 _We shared wet kisses while I squeezed her breasts; avoiding her nipples entirely. Then my palms slid down the taut skin of her stomach. It must've slightly tickled her because she gasped, and wiggled under me._

 _I popped the button on her shorts and pulled them down, with a few firm tugs. Then I tossed them left._

 _I don't know why having her in just her panties makes me so wet. I guess it symbolizes the last vestige of her innocence. I guess I'm sick like that. Anyway, I cupped my hand over her—the distinct feeling of cotton soaked in girl-cum warming my palm._

 _Her blunt nails dug into my shoulders and I kissed a line down her stomach, starting at her sternum._

 _Later there'd be little half-moons dug into the skin of my shoulder-blades, but now I just basked in the way it felt—the menacing burn._

 _I tucked my face between her thighs—facing where she ached from. The fabric was translucent pink now, and showed her slit. I grinned at it._

" _Were you touching yourself before I came?"_

 _I looked up, and she bit her lip at the question. Bit her lip to hide a smile._

 _Pretty adorable. And great news too—I love to hear about her masturbating._

" _You kinda look like you were…" I had a pretty possessive grip on her mound, and squeezed when the impulse hit me, "I mean…you're pretty wet in your panties. And we weren't kissing for long, so I'm betting you did. I bet you touched yourself—maybe right before you texted. And maybe you texted at least in part to see if I was up for this—because your little fingers just weren't enough to land you those_ big _orgasms."_

 _She was moaning, and jerking up into my palm._

 _I gave her plenty of pressure, "Did you come into your panties, or did you take them off to do it?"_

 _She breathed deep, in short intervals, "I played with myself outside of them, and got wet but didn't come. I texted you then."_

" _So you didn't even bother trying, huh?" I bunched the fabric in my fist and tugged it up so it slid against her, "Pretty smart move, actually, I think."_

 _Her legs were spread so wide that her knees almost touched her shoulders. She looked so nice—even just through her panties. I pulled them off, impatient now._

 _She shifted promptly back into position after I chucked them behind me. I hovered over her, breathing sort of labored. My hands gripped the insides of her thighs as I kissed my way down them. I love watching her shiver._

 _Her hands clutched desperately at my shoulders. This is how I know I've got her full attention._ _Every part of my body she holds, she does so with such devout adoration—but much more so when I'm going down on her._

 _At my first open-mouthed kiss to her pussy, her nails dug in and raked their way down to my biceps. I'll be admiring the marks in the morning like some sort of sad sexual narcissist._

 _I do love that I can do this to her (and I know that I'm the only one that can…why else is it so hard for her to cut me off?—she doesn't want to cut_ herself _off)._

 _With the barest graze of my lips, my teeth, my tongue (which twisted eccentrically over her clit, before my mouth encircled it fully and I began to suck), she was gasping—her face and chest turning pink._

 _It really heightened her beauty. I could feel my heart sink._

 _I opened my mouth to show her my tongue as I flicked it over her._

 _Her almost breathless "You're so pretty," I nearly didn't hear. I frowned while my mind tried to put the small gasp together into a working sentence. Then, getting it, I felt myself blush and nuzzled my face deeper into her; sucked her harder, and closed my eyes._

" _Quinn, please," she moaned out, high-pitched and whiny, humping desperately into my mouth, "Look at me."_

 _I did, and she cradled my face up—rubbing a thumb over it as her lovely, glowing thighs shook._

 _3_

 _Out of her short coma, she stared at me for seconds through black lashes and eyes like soil in Autumn._

" _Come here," she told me, "I want to suck you off."_

 _My heart skipped beats. My clothes soon were history._

 _And then she was hands-and-knees on the bed, over me; her pretty face hovering near my lap._

 _I loved how wide her mouth had to go to fit the circumference of the dildo I had strapped on. I grunted. The image was so satisfying. I loved the way I could thrust my hips at her, impale my cock all the way down her throat—and when I finally made her gag; I loved the way that sense of accomplishment washed, warm, over me._

 _My head fell back, and I found bliss. This is the meaning of bliss._

" _You like sucking my dick?" It came out less aggressive than I aimed for—more quivering neediness injected in it than I'd intended. Oh well._

 _The question was the opposite of rhetorical. It absolutely needed the answer we all knew anyway._

" _Mmn hmm," she managed, around a mouthful of my cock (the enthusiasm more than made up for the lack of enunciation)._

 _At that point it was just about the way she looked with her mouth sucking on my toy. I grabbed it at the base—turned it sharply left to stretch out her cheek and ran my thumb over its imprint._

 _Then, I pulled it all out._

 _I marveled for a second at how wet with her saliva it was, then swiped the underside over Rachel's entire face—using it like a brush to paint the slobber._

 _I felt my whole body hum at what I was doing—I was practically feverish. Sweat leaked down the bridge of my nose; some stung my eyes._

 _My hand tugged at the back of her head (fingers laced in her hair); pulling her back onto me swiftly._

 _She purred and I felt it ripple all through me._

 _My hips started to shake pretty bad, and I_ _could tell they'd be slamming hard into her face in a bit._

 _I wanna feel bad about it, but whenever I stopped thrusting my hips she'd choke_ herself _on it._

" _Fuck."_

 _I leaned back; rode Rachel's happy face full-throttle into a draining release._

 _My last thought was—Oh_ god.

 _I maybe did or maybe didn't express it._

 _I was, by that point, far away._

 _4_

 _She lied down for me—open, and vulnerable._

 _We fell into that missionary position that we don't often do. Her blunt nails ran down the planes of my back—my dick in her squelching pussy. She tried to cover her face in the crook of my neck but I tugged her up by the hair._

 _I wanted our eyes to stay locked._

 _I didn't mind listening to the things she whispered about. Or catching the moments when her eyes rolled back._

 _My heartbeats felt so faint and far away._

" _After you get married Rachel…where will you go—when you need to feel like a dirty little whore again?"_

 _It just slipped out. I know it shouldn't have. Even my pace (which I'd been keeping up with splendidly) faltered for a beat._

 _She groaned in complaint and rolled her hips harder up at me, "Don't stop!"_

 _My palms slid down and squeezed her waist. I thrust hard into her; petulantly, "Hmm? What's gonna happen when you want a pussy full of my cock again?"_

" _Fuck!" she threw her head back, and from the way her body shook and the way she clawed (with no fucks) all over the skin of my back, I could tell she was coming soon._

 _I stalled my hips and she sobbed—trying desperately to hump back into me; get me to start, "What're you_ doing!?"

 _My lips slid up her jaw and captured her ear, "_ Tell _me."_

" _I'll beg you!" she gasped it out, and I responded with deeper and harder (fueled by the ego-stroking) thrusts._

 _She kept on, almost hiccupping, "I'll beg you, and manipulate you, and do anything to get you—inside me again! I won't give you up or let you go!"_

 _Her legs were wrapped all the way around my waist, and I could feel her thighs as they flexed—I could feel the way her whole body coiled over the tension before it was released._

 _I shut my eyes, and went with her._

 _5_

 _The sun was up for a few hours before we stopped._

 _She tried to get me to stay._

 _No way was I lying on that bed to_ sleep _though._

 _It all seemed like an awful idea once we were spent._

 _After her eighth "why_ not _?" she walked me to her door. I could tell I'd legitimately ruined her mood. I could tell she really was mad at me._

" _You come over at five_ am, _after ditching me to spend all of Saturday with your_ "homegirls," _and we can fuck for hours_ _but you won't spend part_ _of a_ Sunday morning _with me? You're—really an ass. You really know how to make me feel worthless."_

 _I sighed—so dramatic._

" _I don't have any of my stuff."_

 _Her eyes rolled, "On_ purpose _you don't—_ whatever _, I'm too tired for this._ Goodnight _Quinn! We'll resume our purely sexual affiliation at a later date."_

 _The door slammed in my face._

 _I could feel my brows peak._

 _It's not even_ my _fault. Once sex ceases to be a feasible, physical option then what are we? Thinly-veiled girlfriends. And only one of us was dying over it._

 _Either way, I bet tomorrow she texts me again._

 _6_

Quinn read it over after finishing it. Somewhere these had stopped being simple semi-anonymous sexual play-by-plays, and started being pretty indicative of her feelings.

If one was perceptive enough.

She thought back to the last few entries of Volume I, and blushed. She thought about it in Brittany's hands.

She slumped in her chair.

"Why am I always fucked from all ways, man?"


End file.
